


Caged Prince // original work

by Claradeso



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Childhood Friends, F/F, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Gen, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kingdoms, M/M, POV Original Female Character, Slow Burn, powers, slight depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claradeso/pseuds/Claradeso
Summary: Brienne Reinold, considered a cursed child by her own flesh and blood. A contender chosen by the White Knight to take part in the Choosing, an occasion where the Nobles praise and mock their god.The King thinks she's the girl from the prophecy. The one who will lead his own son, Prince Zyndel, to his downfall.Once faced with the secrets of the caged prince and her own, will she be able to break him as fated to or will he be able to change fate and cut through her first?





	1. Prologue

Two races split at dawn,  
The Noble and the Pawn.  
One destined to conquer,  
And the other destined to suffer.

A prince with dreams,  
Of equality,  
His lover killed,  
From cruelty.

A prince with dreams,  
Of equality,  
He will achieve,  
Through cruelty.

An angel sent,  
By prophecy,  
Will come and bend,  
His legacy.


	2. The Cursed

W hat a dreadful day and it hasn’t even started.

A petite girl frowns back at me in the mirror, disgust evident in her green eyes as several Pawn maids tidy up her appearance by nitpicking every little thing that their eyes manage to land on. The smell of hair dye tickles my nose and my eyes shoots up to the girl’s hair. Short, white locks frame her pale face and although the color makes the girl look divine, it also makes her appear hollow. A statue, one that is capable of fear and hopelessness.  
  
She wears a rather revealing white dress, one that would be more appropriate if she looks more like a lady and not like a little girl. The drop on her neckline droops so low that it shows the black heart of Rucorna on the left side of her chest. The black heart that symbolizes power. The symbol that separates her specie from another. It reminds me of what she is and what responsibility was begrudgingly dumped upon her shoulders.  
  
I don't recognize her but I know who she is. I know her very well.  
  
The girl is the Reinold House's contender for the Choosing. The one they carefully crafted to display in this very day.  
  
_Me_.  
  
"Brienne, it's time," a sharp voice calls out, making me jump. A figure comes into focus as the maids draw away one by one. I flush in anger. The mistress has come.   
  
The old woman stands near the door, a stern frown grazing her lips as she folds her hands in front of her, maintaining the image of the perfect lady she was taught to become since she was a child. Her similar but cold green eyes looks down at me, as she always does, warning me with knowledge I already know. It takes everything in me not to scowl at her.

Instead, my eyes flit to her neck.  
  
The black high collared dress that she wears hides the burn scar branding her throat, the patch of skin that reminds us of a certain Elite’s temper. It’s the only spot that comforts me that she’s a human. She looks like a corpse, more because of the horrid dress that makes the pigment of her skin look lackluster. How I wish she was. How I wish she was nothing but a mere ghost. She might as very well be one for how she haunts me every single day of my life. 

The mistress's voice echoes in my head; the very same voice that torments me, even in my dreams.  
  
_You useless brat. You can't even hold a candle to Alastor and yet you're the one we're pulling for._ __  
  
I didn't ask to be a contender. I couldn't care less if they choose Alastor. That Alastor, that brother, that I always get compared to. That brother who has everything I don't.  
  
I slowly stand, heart thumping into my throat as I hide the fear and sorrow in my eyes. The mistress watches me, always watching like a hawk. She knows I'm scared. Knows she always put fear in me.  
  
I so dearly wish to burn the manor down to ashes. Burn her and her hopes and pride along with it. My fingers twitch. I know I can do it. It would be easy. If I let loose and let my flames grow and consume everything, it will be possible. As long as I can catch the old witch off guard. As long as I have the courage required. 

But, a coward is a coward. She's a monster, one I fear too greatly, and the fact that I look like her- _them_ \- makes me want to rip my own face out of contempt and shame.  
  
"I _said_ it's time." The mistress repeats firmly and I resist the urge to dash out of this room, this house, this life and be reborn on the streets as a nameless orphan. It would be better than the situation I'm in. I would want that over anything else; a life where no one judges me because I wasn't born with what they're looking for.  
  
" _Brienne_ ," the mistress calls yet again, her voice sharp. A warning to not test her patience.  
  
I take a deep breath. I budge my feet and put on the mask I was taught to have just for this moment. I smile.  
  
I'm doing this for father.  
  
"Coming, milady."  
  
***

  
Rucorna, the heart of Loregius. The capital of the whole kingdom. It's where the King's Castle lies, proud and unmoving. The blood red flags planted in every corner and edges of the city show the same heart symbol as the one in my chest and the one in the mistress’s palm, a living proof that we are bound to this very land.  
  
The castle's faded blood red paint and gold linings make it stand out more than any infrastructure that surrounds it and it won't make anyone wonder if this place is indeed the home of the one true King. It embodies everything about his reign; dark, bloody and cruel. It looms over the whole city, making itself known, screaming out that the Ahrlodens are indeed the rightful rulers of the whole nation.  
  
All the Highborn families on their respective carriages make their way towards the courtyard; the castle's sharp, black gates hovering above us as if we're about to enter and be devoured by a monster's mouth.  
  
We probably will be.  
  
I have never viewed the King as someone kind. He is an Ahrloden; the family of the merciless monarchs. The family of the ancestral King who convinced every Noble that their race is far more superior than the Pawns. Far more superior than the gods. The family who got eaten by their greed and caused the god and goddess to fall; one to die and the other to disappear. 

The Ahrlodens are  _ anything _ but kind.

  
"It seems that Prince Zyndel has fully recovered from his coma and will be making his first appearance this afternoon," Alastor remarks as he rolls the newspaper in his hand and tucks it on the side of our seats. I scoot away from him, hating the idea of being close.  
  
"Why, isn't that great? The Ahrlodens have their accursed heir back in top shape after two long years," the mistress sarcastically replies. She isn't too fond of the Ahrlodens either, that much I'm sure of. I have never heard her give praises to the royal family but it doesn't necessarily mean she opposes them. She's just as scared of them as everyone is.  
  
I scoff before I can remember myself and the mistress is quick to give a stern glare. I ignore it and try not to stiffen under her gaze. One thing I learned after all those years with the mistress is that if I pretend to be clueless with my slight slip in behavior, the older woman loses interest and lets it go.  
  
The mistress does indeed let it go, making me relax into my seat, and looks out the window to assess the members of other Highborn Houses that flood out of their carriages; Highborn Houses that has the gall to compete with her beloved House. She probably thinks that the other lots are all pathetic imbeciles that's not even worth her time.  
  
This is why the members of the Reinold House are becoming unreasonably dull and senile. They disassociate themselves with the other Highborn families because they believe that they are the all-so-mighty angels that have no needs to interact with mere peasants.

  
My heart skips a beat when the mistress catches my eyes. I immediately lower my gaze and bite my lower lip. What kind of face was I making? One that wasn't too pleasing, that's for sure. Stupid, _stupid_ Bri.  
  
I grimace as I realize a fatal mistake. I showed her guilt.  
  
"If it weren't for the Choosing, I'd smack your little damned face," she sneers. I wince when Alastor snickers, revelling in my misery. Childish. If it weren't for the mistress, I would have spit at his face.  
  
I brace myself for the continuously throwing of verbal insults since she can't physically assault me but, instead, she only purses her lips and scowls. I clench my hands. She holds herself back for this occasion. She holds herself back because Loregius will have their eyes on me.  
  
She only speaks again when I catch sight of the family emblem on one of the flags. Our checkpoint. The mistress's tone gets softer. _Motherly_. It sends goosebumps in every inch of my body.  
  
"When we enter the castle, I expect you to raise your head and smile, little rabbit. You're useless enough as it is, might as well use what little beauty you have to fool those pathetic whelps that you’re a threat." She yanks my dress one last time to fix a crease and before I could comprehend what she means and respond, the carriage halts to a stop.  
  
One of the footmen opens the door and holds out his hand so he can assist the mistress, the old woman graciously taking it before leaving the carriage with elegance that never for the life of me could I imitate. Alastor goes out next and with a bit of reluctance, he too holds out his hand to me. To assist _me_.  
  
_Disgusting._  
  
I clear my throat. I take it and slowly (seeing as I'm not particularly used with dresses and heels) steps out of the carriage. The cold breeze of autumn greets my face and only then do I notice just how cold Alastor's fingers are compared to mine. He drops my hand immediately and, not so discreetly wipes it on a handkerchief. He acts like he's touched something unpleasant. He really does get on my nerves. I frown and mimic him but instead of a handkerchief, I wipe my hand on my skirts. I'm not particularly thrilled to make contact with him either.  
  
"Alastor and Brienne, play nice with each other now. Remember, you're of the same House." The mistress reminds us with a tight smile, noticing our childish acts. She doesn’t wait for a response and proceeds to get into place for the March by herself.  
  
That was a warning for us. A warning to be in our best behavior and not bring shame to the Reinold House. She does cares about image much more than she should.  
  
Alastor makes a face towards the mistress's back and I resist the urge to burst into laughter. He looks stupid. He always does. He's a stupid version of father. He turns to me and I find myself  struggling to keep a straight face so, I just start walking. I'd rather die than admit he's made me crack a smile.  
  
Despite my brother's silent and infuriating protest earlier, he still keeps me company. Even with his obvious distaste with yours truly, he slows his pace so we can walk side by side. Like an idiot. As if we're equals.  
  
Honestly, I have not an idea what goes through this moron's head. Maybe, he's not so bad or he might just have been obviously obeying the mistress's wishes, acting civil for the sake of appearing decent. I roll my eyes. Of course, it's the latter. He's grandmother's little boy, after all.  
  
I've never actually spoken normally with him that much even though he's my brother. In times we do, he never tells me anything. The act of spitting venom and exchanging blows with one another are more common for us than conversing like actual siblings and most of the time, it ends with me getting a new injury from him or a beating from my grandmother.  
  
I was told not to bother with him ever since we were young and he was probably instructed to get away from me as much as he could. He is a living representation of everything the mistress wishes me to become. Everything I should be. I suppose that's why she put as much distance between us as possible and only let me watch him from afar. So, I can see how different his world is to mine.  
  
The mistress doesn't believe I'd be chosen for the Choosing. I don't know why she despises her granddaughter so much and yet put my brother on such high pedestal. She hates me but her pride refrains her from admitting defeat to her son's taunts. Father’s taunt. Maybe, that's why she threatens me with the concept of death lest that I attempt to disappoint her. She would slit my throat, burn my corpse and hide that fact from my father and from the world. 

  
I suppose if everything our House worked so hard for will be stripped away because of my mistakes, she'll feel better afterwards if she strip my skin off and kill me. The Reinold House, after all, has been one of the Great Houses ever since Fool knows when. It'll be a shame to throw all of those away because of a silly gamble on a silly girl that her Elite son pushed on a throne that was meant for the prodigal brother.  
  
My nerves starts getting the best of me once I realize that _it really is the da_ y. I begin biting my nails, careful not to let the mistress see.  
  
My only choice now is either being chosen as an Elite or being a burned corpse. It is choices that I shouldn't have to choose from if only my father turned his attention to his only son. If only he would stop believing that his daughter is as wonderful as he thinks she is. If only he would stop seeing whatever blessed thing he thinks I possess.

  
"You should be the one in my shoes," I start before I can catch myself and Alastor startles, not expecting me to blame him _nor_ actually talk to him in this situation.  
  
The moment doesn't last though for he laughs. He laughs and mocks me, always making me feel awful for every breath I take. He's always looked at me with hatred and jealousy, even though there's nothing to be jealous of at all. Being a contender is nothing as long as I haven't succeeded in the Choosing.  
  
It hurts to be hated for something you have no control over. But right now, I couldn't find it in me to hurt from the longing for a brother anymore. I have completely given up in hoping for a love that isn’t father’s.  
  
"But, I'm not." He gently grabs my wrist and leans in to whisper those words that I've been made to believe in since I was a child. A reminder of what they say I truly am. It shouldn’t come as a shock anymore but my brother said it with so much venom that I wanted to cry.  
  
"After all, father believes that the daughter cursed with a Sin will put up a nice show."


	3. Family

I'm in a foul mood. I frown despite the mistress's instructions to smile. I couldn't care less if some pompous Noble finds me a disgrace. To hell with them. I didn't come here to please, I came here to prove myself to the ghost who doubts every breath I breathe and to the father I dearly love.  
  
I give Alastor a pointed glare. To hell with _him_.  
  
I clasp a hand on the wrist that Alastor touched and I wince in silent pain. That bastard fucking burned me, grazed his flames along my skin, marking me and making me feel pain when he had the chance. I sigh. Another wound to deal with. Another one that will heal with time or by its own.  
  
The prodigy is probably grateful that the sleeves of my dress covers his deed. He'd better be careful because I plan to come for his head the moment he lowers his defenses. Burn every inch of his skin to crisp so that he could feel half of the pain he- _they_ \- put me through.   
  
He spares me a glance before he goes ahead and proceeds to follow our equally horrible grandmother. Cursed with Sin? _Me_?  
  
I bite my lower lip. I don’t know why they say I’m cursed with a Sin. Sins are all the negative emotions that the Wicked left behind; Pride, Envy, Greed, Lust, Wrath, Gluttony and Sloth. They say that although the Wicked’s Curse are made mistakingly for the Pawns, it also manifests in a few select Nobles, corrupting their insides until they lose their mind and turn into Rejects.

Rejects. Mindless monsters who have to endure never-ending suffering. Monsters who feed on the sinners. 

Those who are cursed with a Sin rots away, both in mind and body, and the King has issued an order to execute whoever contracts the disease caused by the Wicked. That’s the part I don’t understand. I’m neither rotting away nor going crazy and yet they accuse me of being cursed. I suspect they think that way because I have black hair when all of them were blessed with colorless strands.

The thought of father thinking I’m nothing but a fascinating show makes my chest burn. It fills me with so much grief that it makes it hard to breathe. I blink away the tears. Now is not the time to overthink it. Alastor is just antagonizing me so I will be distracted from what I truly came here for. He meant nothing by it. He meant nothing by everything.

_Breathe_.  
  
I divert my attention to other things. Around us, the other representatives of the Houses saunter into their spots; skirts of different hues swirl around, making a hypnotizing but tantalizing image of power and expectations. Unlike us, everyone is rich in color and I'm left to ponder how miserable the Reinold House appears to be to the eyes of outsiders.  
  
"The Great Houses up front!" A lowborn Noble announcer shouts and it's more than enough to catch the attention of the families that act like they've just seen each other after several years even though they probably come across each other everyday. Is it for formality or do they actually care about one another?  
  
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn to find Alastor motioning me to follow. I grimace. The mistress and Alastor doesn’t miss a beat to get to their places, looking every bit of the cold statue they are as they settle to their spots. I obediently string along. I don't have a choice.  
  
The Great Houses consists of the Gale, Glenn, Morey, Stavins Houses and, of course, the Reinold House. That's why we're one of the people at front. The crown of being an Elite is probably why the Reinolds are deranged; their excellence eventually mingled with madness as more time passed by. There's an awful lot that holds true to that testament.  
  
Judging by appearances, the Gale House is right in front of us. There's five of them. Seeing how the other four crowd over the guy in the middle, I'm guessing that's their contender. His shoulder is broad and a fancy looking sword fits snugly on his hips, the hilt having some intricate design that I can’t even begin to understand. Even the way he stands looks regal. 

The Gales are Metalheads and father mentioned once that they are one of the families who are truly close to the Ahrlodens. Most of them are trained swordsmen while the minority focuses on making weapons. My eyes trails back to his sword, no doubt forged and molded by his own kind. A true trained swordsman. _Huh_.  
  
He seems to feel me boring holes in the back of his head because he turns and meets my eyes. His light brown hair is a bit long on the right, long enough to cover the right part of his face and I make a note on how his tan skin brings out the forest green in his eyes. Under his left eye is the mark of Rucorna; a black heart with a crown on its center. His gaze looks dull at first but it lights up once he realizes what or rather, _who_ he is looking at.  
  
I don't look away. It's been so long since I have seen, _really seen_ , other people besides my own that I can't help but stare and wonder if he is real. If there are really people besides us that doesn't look as monochromatic as the monsters I call my family. If the pigment on his skin is not just a figment of my imagination. He looks beautiful.  
  
The man slowly smirks before he looks back to the front and resumes his position because the people in his House has started reprimanding him for such a gesture. I roll my eyes. Looks like he's the charming type, I wouldn't doubt it with that face of his.  
  
I couldn't get any more glimpse of him because the mistress blocks my view the next second, fixing her place right in front of me and my brother.  
  
I opt on staring at the mistress just to amuse myself. She turns her head, conversing seriously with another family member. Looking at her closely, I'm ashamed to admit but I take after her in some way. It's no doubt that once I grow older, this wretched face will be akin to hers. If I wasn't so thin, I would have looked exactly like her; from the way her eyebrows arch to the way her lips twist in a scowl. The only difference lies in our hair. That's why she dyes mine, painting it white as snow, coating the raven hair, without regard how it burns my scalp and kills a part of me everytime.  
  
She does it to hide what they think I am to the rest of Loregius. She does it so I can blend in with the family and be questioned by no one. She does it to erase any essence of mother.  
  
I wince when Alastor takes my wrist. He ignores it and forcefully places my hand to coil around his arm.  
  
"It hurts," I hiss. He doesn't even meet my eyes.  
  
"You should be used to it."  
  
The March is nerve-wrecking but otherwise uneventful. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of Nobles watches us, scrutinizing each and one of us contenders under their gaze and whispering among themselves on which ones of us do they think will deserve to be an Elite. Of course, they're betting on their own Houses.  
  
I handle the hushed whispers of the other Houses just fine because the music the orchestra provides drowns them out. But when we come by the Reinolds, the music reigns because no one speaks and I force down the bile that threatens to rise to my throat.  
  
The Reinolds stand there like statues made of marbles, faded from top to bottom and sculpted beautifully in a very complicated way. Every inch of their being white as an untainted canvas, completely devoid of color if not for their lifeless green eyes. They take pride in their appearance for they believe it’s proof that they're the descendants of an angel. I know, because they do everything to keep their blood pure from outsiders, keeping the blood of the angel only to themselves. That's why our number are scarce; they kill offsprings who have any kind of imperfection and some pregnancy don't even make it past birth.   
  
And yet, here I am. A deformity in their blood parading to fight for their name. It wouldn't be possible if my father wasn't an Elite.  
  
Their gazes feel more intense and suffocating than the rest of the Houses that I wish I'd die there and then and never come back to life. I hadn't noticed that I was clutching tightly on Alastor's arm until he places a hand over mine, reassuring me with his cold, stiff fingers that everything will be over soon. I absolutely hate it. The temperature of my fingers could rival his but nonetheless, I hate how the gesture warms me inside and hate how I'm reminded that underneath all these hatred and negative feelings towards each other, he's still my brother.  
  
I hope nothing will change that.


	4. Powerful Creatures

I want to vomit my heart out.  
  
The contenders of the Highborn Houses are seated up front and for once in my life, I'll admit that I will feel more comfortable if Alastor or even the mistress is by my side. I've been with them all my life and as horrible as they are, I'm just not used to strangers.  
  
A big screen is conveniently placed above us, seeing that there's so much of the kingdom's Nobles that it'll be impossible for all of us to see the King clearly. He is currently giving his speech though I can barely hear or understand him because of the inner turmoil that boils inside of me. My heart thunders in my chest, beating so loud that it drowns out everything else. I can't even see clearly. All I know is that he's taking so long. _Too long_.  
  
King Jackson looks down at us from high above, standing on a floating platform, looking as cruel and as powerful as ever in his blood red uniform. Countless gold and silver badges are lined and pinned on his chest and every single one of them glares underneath the harsh sunlight that streams from the window panels above. His crown sits heavily on his head, decorated with shining red rubies while its golden curves spike and curl upwards in a menacing display. It gives more the image of a deadly trap rather than an accessory meant to show power.  
  
Behind him are Queen Jillianne, their children (Princess Victoria and Prince Zyndel) and the Elites that are to step down from their reign and continue as palace soldiers once the new generation are chosen. Father isn't on the screen. I squint in hopes of seeing him clearly among the people above but the hopefulness and nervousness seem to blur my vision.  
  
I should probably pay attention. Maybe the King will mention rules or some shit like that and that will distract me enough to go through this waiting period. No one's exactly given me a heads up on how the Choosing works. All I know is that it's a demonstration of power, a contest to prove your worth.

  
"The Choosing is held every 20 years to honor our beloved Fool who was foolish enough to side with and die for his Nobles. That's why Elites are to be chosen; to show him how powerful his creations have become. We must assure him that we are powerful enough to protect and keep the Pawns in line even without his aid."  
  
I stop listening. _Protect_. I can hardly call the thing the monarchy is doing as 'protecting'. _Enslave_ is probably the right term. Even now, there's not a single Pawn servant in sight. The King loathes the race. The Pawns are probably barred inside the palace, never to set foot in this Noble territory under the King's orders. I highly doubt that they want to partake in an occasion for the god who abandoned their kind.  
  
Everyone knows that the Fool has long been dead. This event, the Choosing, is created by the Ahrlodens as another mockery towards the fallen god. The one they dragged down to die. The god that got murdered on the world they created by monsters he, himself, protected.

  
Even a god could get dragged down from his grace. What more of a little cursed girl who can't even control her own flames?  
  
I chew on my fingernails. I could hear the mistress's voice scolding me about how unsanitary the habit is but, I don't care anymore. I need something to calm my nerves. Something. Anything at all-  
  
"Bri?" a familiar voice calls out and I whip around so fast that the stranger gasps in concern. I swear, I strained a muscle.  
  
"Easy there, darling," he laughs as I grumble and massage my neck where it hurts. The stranger trades seats with the one I sit next to, a boy from the House of Kirshners. The boy immediately obliges. 

  
"I can't believe I'm finally seeing you." The sentence sounds so fond and warm from the stranger, as if it's been saved for years so that it can be uttered at this exact same moment. I look at the man beside me, his caramel hair covering his eyes with how long it's gotten up front. I wonder if he sees me or if he sees anything at all. I must have looked confused because a playful grin makes its way on his lips.  
  
"Aw, Bri." My name rolls off his tongue in a overly familiar way that I got goosebumps all over my body. "Is that the right way to treat a friend? By blatantly ignoring him?"  
  
_Friend?_  
  
My confusion seems to make him smile more and he leans in to whisper the familiar words that I have heard for Fool knows how many times.  
  
"At three o'clock, under the oak tree." I tense.  
  
" _Dor?_ " I whisper and he practically glows as I said his name. I gasp and cover my mouth, not believing that he really is the friend I have been discreetly talking to for the past 10 years.  
  
Dor of the Glenn House. The strange boy who lives next door.  
  
Old memories starts to flood back and I feel myself smile. I'm reminded of the quiet moments in which we tell each other stories that either one of us have read in some stupid, childish book, choked laughter so that none of our families would suspect a thing, hushed whisperings of our own sufferings; all done while a tall wall stood between us.  
  
I can't believe it. It's the first time I've seen him in real flesh that I don't know how to properly react. 

 

So, he does the reacting for me.  
  
Dor beams and wraps his bandaged hand around mine, his warmth spreading to me and making me realize just how cold my hands have gotten from the fright. He doesn't comment on it and simply hums in what I assume is delight when I hold his hand back. Although I'm not a big fan of physical contact, his gesture feels welcome and I could feel my worries fade away. 

Only to be replaced by butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I try to hide my blush.  
  
"You're not exactly as I imagined. I didn't know you were this ugly and yet still got the guts to wear such a revealing dress." I hit his arm with my free hand.  
  
"And I didn't know you were a rotting zombie who has a nest for a hair and is too affectionate for his own good." He laughs at my little jab and squeezes my hand regardless, transferring more of his heat and calming my heart.  
  
"Touché. Well, we're going to be learning much more of each other now so look forward to that." He lets go of my hand and pats it gingerly before he draws away. His warmth still lingers on my skin and I try my hardest not to chase away the comfort it provides. I clasp my hands together in an attempt to preserve it.  
  
My family are always cold to the touch. Even though we're Torches and are supposed to be living furnaces, each of us has surprisingly low body temperature. Not like it's a disease. It's just how our body is designed by the Fool. Flawed. Abnormal. The price we have to pay for having a strange family culture. I wouldn't be surprised if someone from the other Highborn Houses tells me that the existence of the Reinolds is a mistake.  
  
"The King sure is taking his time," Dor mutters under his breath and he shifts his weight so that he leans more towards me. I suppress a laugh.  
  
"Excited to show off, huh?" I tease. He snickers behind his hand.  
  
"Yeah. Watch out or I'll steal your flames away." I roll my eyes but I can't deny that the thought of having my flames taken away scares me more than it should. After all, it's the only thing I have. If I was a cursed, powerless girl then surely, I wouldn't even be sitting here right now and instead be a rotting corpse that no one but monsters would know about and forget with time.  
  
I snap back to attention when the King clears his throat and smiles. A smile that is practiced several times just for moments like this: for formality. It holds no joy nor warmth at all. As someone who's trained to give such smile, I recognize it.  
  
"I'm truly delighted that everyone is willing to perform." Of course. It's a given that the other Highborn Houses should delight the Ahrlodens. They can erase you with a single thought and make everyone forget you existed. I wonder how many has been eradicated from existence by the King. " _May the Fool bless us even in death_. Let us officially start the Choosing."  
  
Applause erupts from everywhere and I'm glad that the event is not held in an enclosed space or I would have went deaf from all the noise. The venue is a garden with glass ceilings in which a makeshift theater is placed, rows of seats spirals high around to surround the arena in the center in where each of us will demonstrate our abilities. The platform where the royals watch hovers in the air, probably held by the Morey Elite or by the Queen herself.  
  
I take a deep breath. Everyone knows what the others can do, what matters is how better you are compared to them and how cleverly you use your abilities. I clench my fist and I realize that the warmth Dor gave me is no longer there. Cold fear settles on my stomach.  
  
I'm not good enough for this.  
  
"Ancell Gale of the Metalheads!" a Noble announcer's voice erupts, too loud for my liking. The Gales cheer him on with prideful applause. 

  
The man I was staring at back in the March snaps to attention and gracefully enters the arena with confident strides. His hand grips loosely on the hilt of his sword and he looks just as bored as the first time I saw him. He doesn't appear to be as nervous as I am.  
  
_The strong have no need for nervousness._  
  
I scoff and put a finger on my temple in an attempt to soothe an incoming headache as I slump back into my seat. My whole body feels numb. I'm starting to wonder if the mistress is actually a Reader because her voice resonates in every corner of my head whenever I don't need it to.  
  
"You sure don't seem to like Gale very much," Dor remarks next to me and I inwardly thank him for the distraction. I manage a weak smile.  
  
"I don't like anyone very much."  
  
Marble statues rise from underneath the earth, a prop to aid the demonstration of power. Some stay still, some move. I wring my hands together; how am I going to pull this off?  
  
Instead of pulling his sword and slicing everything that gets in his way, bits of metal starts to form in the air around him, each of them carefully twisting into beautiful yet dangerous, sharp weapons. They hover in the air, giving off a deadly glint. In a flash, the statues, both moving and still, crumble into pieces and the spikes that caused such destruction suspend into the air, far away from where they originally were. Ancell waves a hand towards him and his weapons fly back to him so fast that I thought he's gonna get impaled by it.  
  
The next movement catches me off guard. He raises his head and in the same time, his metal spikes ascend towards the royals in a manner which can only be described as ' _to kill_ '. The spikes deflects before it even cuts through the platform and it hits the soil below him, dangerously close yet not enough to scratch him. Nonetheless, he smirks and stands his ground.  
  
"You took too long to recover, I was starting to get bored," Gale drawls and it takes me a moment to realize he's talking to the prince. Prince Zyndel merely scoffs.  
  
"Don't get cocky."  
  
With that, Ancell Gale takes his bow and stands aside, the weapons he created draws toward him and melts in his skin. I suck in a breath. He barely made any movements and yet he was able to create intricate weapons and move them as he wishes. As expected of a contender from one of the Great Houses. And he's only the first one.  
  
"Aurea Morey of the Drifters!"  
  
The woman next to Dor floats away from her chair and she maintains her grace as she glides towards the arena with her head held high. Already showing off before the actual show. Her wavy golden hair gives off an unnatural shine and like me, she is wearing a rather revealing dress, the neckline dropping low so everyone can see the Rucorna symbol on the center of her freckled chest. I resist the urge to look back down on my own. I flush. I'm only a child while she's a woman.  
  
She curtsies towards her audience, feet still not making any contact with the soil, and the Morey House seems to be pleased with her display. Some boys behind my seat whistle low and chuckle among themselves. I want to choke them.  
  
The statues have reconstructed to their original forms and are moving similarly to how it did before. I know this is just the start. An introduction of the contenders. There's going to be more performances and yet I already dread this one. Just how useless am I? Just how weak am I to be nervous about using my own flames?  
  
Morey holds up a hand and the moving statues halt to a stop, already on her clutches, just waiting to be used. With a flick of her wrist, they all fly towards Gale and the Metalhead has to draw his sword to defend himself from the attacks. Metal hits stone and it was over in a manner of minutes, Gale huffing in annoyance while spikes he hastily created over the chaos hover on his side. Bits of statues lay scattered on the earth, having not received the mercy of the boy.  
  
One remaining statue draws towards Morey and she laughs, amused at Gale's irritation. She strokes the statue's chin with a finger and suddenly, her eyes meet mine and the statue blurs. My hand twitches and before I can register what's going on, the statue suddenly burst into bits in front me. Too close. It takes me a moment to realize I had frozen out of fear.  
  
Morey aimed it at me for whatever reason and that explosion is the work of an Annihilator. I let out a shaky breath, I must give my thanks to both parties later but I can't show that I was shaken by the gesture. Dor seems to notice (but he doesn’t seem to be bothered) and he pats my hand one more time. I pull away, ignoring how he recoils in embarrassment. I can't be spoiled by his warmth.  
  
Morey pays me no more mind and starts to drift north so she can come face to face with the royals. My eyes dart to where the Reinolds are seated. Sure enough, the mistress is glaring daggers at me. I swallow. She knows I'm starting to crumble.  
  
Morey curtsies in the open air. The King lazily waves his hand to dismiss her while the Queen smiles. It seems to be sufficient so she drifts towards Gale's side and places herself close enough to brush shoulders with him.  
  
The boy ignores her, his sword already sheathed and his gaze completely focused ahead. His spikes now materialize on his body as some sort of armor, probably not taking any chances the next time a contender attacks him. He doesn't seem to care for the Morey girl.  
  
"Dor Glenn of the Nullifiers!"  
  
Instead of bursting into cheer as I expected him to, his aura seems to change the second his name was announced. He keeps his mouth shut and doesn't even spare me a glance (not that I'll know with that hair of his), as he marches towards the arena with practiced steps. The moment he sets foot inside the space, the moving statues drop, some already crumbling from the impact of hitting hard earth from up above.  
  
I draw in a breath. Amazing. From what I know, Nullifiers usually work their powers when they come into contact with a person or an object. Dor must be really talented. I can't believe he's the same boy who used to whine about practice every single day behind that tall wall.  
  
Dor throws a cocky smirk towards Gale's way and the boy flinches, already expecting an attack. He seems to be more jumpy than I expected him to be because his metal materialize into spikes in an instant and quickly flies towards Dor. My heart hammers into my chest but I forgot just who I'm watching here. 

He's a Glenn.  
  
The dangerous metal stops inches away from Dor and I wait for it to drop any second from his ability but it doesn't. Gale glares at him while he claws on the collar of his uniform, seemingly having a hard time breathing. Morey panics beside him, her eyes darting back and forth from Dor and Gale.  
  
My eyes widens upon realization of what's really happening. I don't know when Dor got to touch him but he definitely did come into contact with the other boy earlier or else this stunt would have been impossible. 

He is stealing Gale's powers and is now rendering him useless.  
  
I shudder at the memory of Dor nullifying my abilities once, little hands gripping each other out of foolishness from a hole a broken wall has to offer (we promised not to look at each other until the Choosing comes). It felt hollow, empty, and the emptiness clawed through my skin, begging for the familiar ability to come back. It was suffocating and I thought then that Dor was slowly killing me. I told him and he let go.  
  
The spikes then flies towards the statues, giving them the same ending that everyone is expected to give them. Dor is quick to let go of Gale, the boy's metals quickly returning to his body as he clutches Morey's shoulder for support.  
  
"Is it so fun to pick on me?" Gale snarls and Dor sheepishly scratches the back of his head.  
  
"I don't know how to go about Aurea's ability so forgive me for that." Dor jogs towards the two while ignoring Morey's reprimands. His eyes fly back to my face and he smiles, making me blush. What a show-off. The embarrassment doesn't last though for the next announcement makes a chill set on my spine.  
  
"Brienne Reinold of the Torches!"  
  
All eyes turn to me and I can feel every inch of my body tense. I grit my teeth, willing myself to stand and act as graceful as I can in this situation. _Breathe in, breathe out. You trained for this day, Brienne. The Choosing was drilled to you day and night for the last 19 years spent in that hell hole._  
  
I’m scared. For the last 19 years, the mistress has done nothing but tell me I can’t control my flames. What if I fail here?  
  
I force myself to not look towards the mistress or my brother or any member of the Reinold House. I know I'm just going to be discouraged with how they regard me with disgust. I stare blankly ahead.  
  
I wish I can draw confidence from my father. I wish to see him. I will when I finish this feat successfully. I look at Dor out of the corner of my eye. Thank the Fool he's there. Father tells me the Glenns are friends.  
  
All I can do is step forward and forward and forward until I set foot inside the arena, suddenly noting the change in temperature on this side. I spare a glance towards the other two contenders who already had their turn. I clench my fist. They won't attack me. It's my turn. All I have to do is burn these statues to ashes and be done with it. No harm should be done to the others.   
  
I put all my effort not to cower in fear of the thought of failure. I'm going to be an embarrassment and a hazard, not just to the Reinolds, but to all of Loregius.  
  
I stand to where they stood, the marble statues staring back at me with their hollow eyes. They resemble my family and I can feel sparks of anger come to life inside of me. It'd be easy to imagine them burning into bits. I wish I can kill them and I most definitely will when the time comes. Seconds feel like forever and against my better judgement, I meet eyes with Alastor. He raises an eyebrow towards me.  
  
_What are you waiting for?_  
  
Black fire rises from my skin, the fabric of my dress designed to perfectly handle our flames without burning, and I thank the Fool that out of all the things to demonstrate with, they chose marble statues. It's good practice for when I slaughter the hollow angels.  
  
The Reinolds specialize in black flames, flames that are made up of nothing but darkness. Flames that can only be put out with blessed water or when the wielder themselves extinguish them. Not even Drowners can stop it and Nullifiers can only do so much to contain it.  
  
_They are flames that are fit for the Reinold House. They are flames that are fit for monsters._ _  
_  
All the nervousness I felt earlier went down the drain, now replaced with unreasonable wrath for what they are and what I am. I snarl when the statue in front turns into the mistress, her cold green eyes looking at me as if I'm an insect.  
  
Anger feeds the fire well.  
  
Each of the statues turn into every single one of the House members and I will myself not to be afraid or the flames that now dance between my fingers will weaken and disappear. They can feel what I feel. When I feel cowardly, they do too. When I weep, they wail.   
  
I force my eyes close. This is just an illusion I created. They're not real. One day they will be.  
  
It's easy to let go of the fire when the mistress's voice doesn't bark stern warnings everytime she sees a wrong muscle twitch, concerned that a single slip will release all the flames built up inside of me. I open my eyes to watch dark fire dance in the air, tasting and enjoying the stage that were set for them.  
  
It will be easy to let it all go at this moment. Burn this whole garden until it turns to ash. A stupid thought that I immediately snuff out before my flames hold true to my desires.  
  
They slowly swirl around the statues, like they're studying an unfamiliar prey, tasting it before pouncing, devouring it greedily with every lick of their flames. I lose my concentration for a second as I hear the imaginary howl of the mistress and the fire grows in delight. __It's not real. Don't rejoice. The fire's joy makes one of the contenders yelp. I meet eyes with her beyond the wall of fire and I see her fumble with her coat, grabbing a vial containing- what I assume is- blessed water. Measures in case the worst happens and the flames mistakenly come for her. She's the contender of the Weldt House, a fellow Torch, though she wields orange flames instead of black. I grit my teeth. What is she afraid of?  
  
My flames grow and grow, happy and content with the fodder they're receiving and from the satisfaction they feel in my heart. I squint my eyes as I try to focus on the real targets. Statues, not my own House. They're statues, not beings of the same kind. Both relief and dread settle on my nerves.  
  
Their joy grows too much for my liking and they start to ignore my silent protests, so I put a finger on my lips before I completely lose control of them.  
  
The fires hurry back to me, full to the brim with their lunch and they tell me about their happiness in being fed. They settle back to my body and prepare themselves for slumber. Warmth fills my very being. All didn't comply, like an impudent child, and they still dance on my skin; they don't want to go back inside yet.  
  


Good. Then let’s fly.

  
I embrace myself and the flames follow quick to my motions. They are much obedient today; probably because I gave them a bountiful meal before I ordered them around. They lick at my skin as they settle behind my back, forming wings of black flames.  
  
Multiple gasps echo throughout the crowd.  
  
It's a trick that father made me learn. A trick that he told me to keep as a secret. A trick that I practiced and perfected when the mistress turns her cheek away. A trick made and meant for this very day. The wings stretch themselves in the open air, eager to take off and be free. Adrenaline pounds on my ears.  
  
I want to see him. I need to see him. Have him say that I did great, that I managed to keep my control, that he's proud of his beloved daughter.  
  
My feet pounds the ground and my friends did not disappoint, giving me exactly what I want. They launch me off the ground, already used to the routine and they give me no trouble flying towards the front of the platform.  
  
The first person my eyes find is exactly who I meant to find. I smile and flush in happiness. He lazily smiles back and winks at me with his bright but dangerous green eyes.  
  
The years have been kind to him, to all of the Reinold House, and he looks younger than he truly is. He looks like an older, smarter but sloppy version of Alastor. His long silver hair is loosely braided to the left side of his head, some strands sticking out in different, odd angles as if he didn’t really bother. 

 

Father's lean arms are crossed as he lies too comfortably in his chair, his feet even kicked up on the table. With the way his messy white dress shirt is unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up in a casual manner, anyone is more likely to assume that he just woke up rather than think he made a poor attempt in dressing up for a grand occasion. He doesn't look like a proper Elite at all but then his skills are what makes him extraordinary, not his appearance.  
  
"Lady Reinold," a smooth deep voice greets and I was broken out of my stupor. Deep blue eyes that belongs to the prince bore into mine and I am suddenly reminded that I'm in front of my father _and_ the royal family.  
  
"Y-your Highness and Your Majesty," I sputter and curtsy clumsily, unintentionally tripping from my own feet even in midair. King Jackson looks like he just recovered from his shock and gives me a half-hearted nod as if that's the best thing he can do in this situation. Queen Jillianne glances at her husband before she smiles and dismisses me with a wave of her hand.  
  
Begrudgingly, I spare one last glance at father (he looks at me kindly) before willing my flames to go and put me back to the ground. As obedient as my flames are, they have a mind of their own and a taste of freedom is something they're not willing to give up in any moment. I know because they're starting to rebel and I can already feel my concentration slip and energy drain away. It’s not long before they wring me out dry and dance by themselves.  
  
I land in front of Dor. He gives me one of his stupid smiles, celebrating my success in his own silly way but I don't return the sentiment. Instead, I hold onto his hand and plead with my eyes. The flames travel through my arms and trail towards our clutched hands, curious of the boy their master is placing her trust on but before they even touch his skin, Dor nullifies my flames.  
  
Suddenly, he gets it and the flames all die together. I can feel the familiar weight of the emptiness inside of me and it's without a doubt that my flames would complain against me once they return. Being nullified makes it hard to breathe with the way my body craves its missing pieces but nonetheless, it also provides peace within myself.  
  
I mouth a word of gratitude and he tenderly brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. My knees start to buckle and my lips quiver. I feel faint. I don't know if it's because of the feeling of emptiness, the nerves, the relief, or the lingering feel of Dor's lips on my skin.  
  
He pulls me and makes me lean more of my weight to him, acting as a pillar that I so desperately need. He strokes my arm to calm me down. If Morey and Gale is confused with the exchange, they don't show it and only look ahead.  
  
I force myself to stand beside the contenders without Dor's support. They all remain rooted to their spot, unyielding and strong, resembling everything I'm not.  
  
Even here, I'm just another outcast.


	5. Her Father

"What in the name of the Fool was _that_?" The mistress seizes me by the arm the moment she gets the chance, her voice hushed so that only I can hear it. Fear settles inside of me as I feel the weight of her hand on my arm. I try my best not to whimper especially when Alastor is trailing behind her like the good grandson he is, excited to see how I’ll be humiliated. The large ballroom suddenly feels so small and the music being played by the orchestra falls to deaf ears.  
  
"What do you mean?" My throat is dry. I try to sound bigger than I feel but the mistress all but scoffs at my attempt. Her grip tightens, too much that I think it’s going to bruise.  
  
"Are you acting stupid?" She spits, face red with fury. If we weren't in a banquet filled with Highborn Houses, she would've slapped me across the face or struck me in the hands with her crop until it bled. I can't help myself from trembling, it's a reflex. "That flashy stunt that you did, you cretin!"  
  
"Father taught me," I force out, "He told me not to tell anyone."  
  
The mistress clicks her tongue and will herself not to shove me away in front of all these Nobles. She drops my arm and quickly stalks to where I assume father will be. I bite my lower lip.  
  
It's okay. Father can handle her. I'm not in trouble. He won't be in trouble. The Elites are revered in every way possible; as much as the mistress hates it, she can never turn father away.  
  
I'm about to follow her when Alastor speaks from behind me, making me flinch. "You've become quite the talk because of that stunt you did. _Angel_ , they said."  
  
I open my mouth to say something back, to say that's ridiculous, but before I can do so, he adds, "Grandmother was actually impressed although she won't say it. I saw the fascinated glint in her eyes before it turned in to anger.”

“Do you think I care?” I touch my arm, trying to hide how I tremble. Alastor’s eyes narrow.

“She's quite furious about Glenn though.” He ignores whatever I said, as he always does. “I'm gonna assume that he's your mysterious friend next door?"  
  
I gape at him, not expecting him to know about me and Dor. I guess it's weird that no one knew of him even though we've been secretly meeting for 10 years. I'm sure some of them suspected that something is going on beneath that oak tree but I guess they can't be bothered to care. It just further proves the point that no one really cares about the cursed girl's personal life.  
  
Alastor is the least I expected to know about my rendezvous. He always has his hands full with the academy, training, personal lectures and just being the prodigy in general that I haven't imagined he had the time to pay any attention to his little sister. Maybe someone knew and warned him not to follow my example. They can’t afford the prodigal son of an Elite to be led astray.

  
I don't answer and instead, avert my gaze from him. I direct it towards the party in front of me; each family celebrating their contenders' success and others congratulating or taunting friends. Each of them proved their skills worthy of the Choosing but, of course, some stood out more than the rest. The Great Houses more so.  
  
The Reinold House make no attempt in congratulating theirs and they keep to their corner, not willing any outsiders to join them. Not even me.  
  
"Do you love Glenn?" Alastor whispers behind me, his voice so quiet that I wonder if he's talking to me or himself. The question catches me off-guard. Why does he care? And do I love Glenn? I purse my lips, trying to find the words to describe what I feel for the man.   
  
"Of course, much more than I ever loved any of you." I spit and hope he realizes why that is. Hope he realizes how cruel he has been. Alastor's not dumb, no matter how many times he acts like it. He just chooses what to acknowledge and what to ignore.  
  
"Which is not very much, I presume," he sneers and it frightens me how someone with the same face as father can make such a cruel expression towards me. Father had never looked at me like that. I remind myself that the person in front of me is my cruel brother, not the man who cares and loves me for what I am.  
  
"You haven't done anything to earn it." I clasp a hand on the wrist he burned and I ignore how his eyes watch the movement.  
  
"Your love isn't needed," he says with indifference, "I'm not sure if the mistress would allow such 'love' with an outsider but you're not exactly pure, are you? Wouldn't hurt if you get tainted by another House."  
  
I can feel the ever-present anger start to boil inside of me and it takes all I have to stop myself from clawing his stupid, emotionless face and letting him bleed to death. I hope he can see it in my face because I take no actions to hide my resentment. 

“If given the chance, will you run away with him?”

Insecurity clouds his eyes for a moment, startling me, but his question surprises me more because I didn’t expect it to ever come from his mouth in this lifetime. Surprised because I haven’t bothered to think about it even once especially when I don’t even know what Dor feels for me. 

The thought of living with Dor somewhere far away, in a little house, acting like our responsibilities doesn’t exist and all there is is love makes something in my chest bloom. I imagine little children running around, sharing his vibrant smile and caramel hair, no traces of whatever I am because I want them to take after his warmth. Ache begins to settle on my chest, crushing whatever bloom of hope that started to grow within my heart. That’s nothing but a dream I dare not chase. I remain silent. Alastor doesn’t seem to mind and instead continues to question me further.

“What will you do if the House persecutes you for loving him?” He stares, face blank, waiting for my answer. I don’t know what’s going on but I answer the only thing that comes to mind.

“Burn everything down.”   


He continues to stare at me silently and I wait for him to say something insulting but he only smiles and shrugs.

"You shouldn't get too close with anyone here," he murmurs, changing the subject. I scoff but I’m glad he stops prying into my mind. I unclench my fists. I'll do whatever I want. If befriending others is a way to spite him, I will gladly do so.  
  
But first, father.  
  
He was beside the King with the other Elites earlier, his posture lax and lips naturally quirked like he has a secret that he alone is aware of. 

  
I search the crowd and I will myself to catch a glimpse of white but all I manage to catch are familiar, dull forest green eyes. It doesn't light up like it did the first time we exchanged eye contact but he smiles nonetheless, acknowledging me. Alastor shifts in the corner of my eye and the sudden sensation of a hand in the small of my back makes me feel a sense of accomplishment. I delightfully smile back.  
  
Gale whispers to the girl he's with and she turns her gaze on me, her sharp hazel eyes obscured by a pair of thick round glasses. Her blonde hair is tied up in a braided bun and it makes the spade mark of Nereos visible on the side of her sun-kissed neck. She is quite tall, almost matching Gale in height, but her posture is stiff as if she's not used with the body she was born with. Linnea Linden, an Annihilator. The one who saved me from Morey's attack.  
  
Linden doesn't smile for me so I don't either. 

I was about to continue my search for father when Gale ushers Linden along towards us, much to her- _and my_ \- chagrin.  
  
"Alastor," he nods when they approach us and I briefly wonder why one knew the other but then they probably go to the same academy. I wouldn't know.  
  
"Brienne." Gale then gently takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, his soft lips carefully grazing the patch of skin and bones. I try not to squirm. I've been taught that this is a custom and Dor had already demonstrated it to me earlier but why is it that when Gale does it, I find it weird?  
  
"Lord Gale and Lady Linden," I greet back. I withdraw my hand and hide it behind my back, letting the fabric graze over it just enough to overwrite the sensation of his lips on the back of my hand without making it obvious that I absolutely hated the gesture. I turn my full attention to Linden to distract me from further wanting to wipe my hand in the skirts of my dress.  
  
"I give my thanks to you, Lady Linden, for obliterating the statue that came for me earlier. I'm afraid it caught me so off guard that I couldn't react in time." I offer a polite smile.   
  
"It's my pleasure. I merely acted on impulse. Forgive me if it left a sour taste on your House's mouth," she says with a taunting curl of her lips, her voice sharp and clear even with the various murmurs and music in the background. I start to wonder if the stunt was purposely done. The thought is enough to bring a smile to my face. I wouldn't know; she and that Morey girl could be the bestest of friends and I wouldn't know.  
  
She turns to Alastor, "What a surprise, for you to not be the contender. I thought you were merely joking when you said your sister was the one, considering we haven't gotten proof that she existed until now."  
  
Much to my delight, the jab affects my brother because his jaw tightens and the weight of his hand on the small of my back suddenly becomes too evident. _Keep going, Linden,_  
  
"Well, she exists, all right," he mutters. He taps a finger, heat pooling to his fingertips, a signal for me to speak next. So I did, revelling at the fact that he needs me for this.  
  
"Are you disappointed, my lady?" I ask. Disappointed with whom, I don't specify. It could be with him or me, she would only know.  
  
"So formal." Gale snorts and loosely grips the hilt of his sword out of habit. He has his full attention on me. "We're in this after-party to be acquainted with one another. Why not loosen up a bit and refer to us by our first names for a start? We’ll be at each other’s company for quite a while."  
  
I can feel the hand on my back spread unbearable warmth on the fabric of my dress and I freeze in fear of another burn. It would be easy for Alastor to seep his flames in the garment and fry my skin underneath. I frown. I should have slapped that hand away when I had the chance to. He clears his throat and steps up, redeeming himself from needing me earlier and speaking for me as if he has grasp of what I'm thinking.   
  
"Brienne isn't used with conversing with other Houses," he speaks as if he's used to saying it. "Let’s take it slow and don't force her to do unnecessary things. Now, if you may excuse us."  
  
I realize what he's trying to do and why he's right here by my side. He's here to keep an eye on me. Build a wall, a distance between me and the others. Just like how they isolated themselves, kept everything to their chest, bearing the burden of being alone like a crown. Making me one of them. I curse inwardly. 

  
Alastor's here so I can't call for help.  
  
I clench my fist and don’t move even if Alastor attempts to whisk me away. I have Dor. My patient Dor who kept pursuing me even if I didn't give him anything in return. Right now, he's nowhere in sight. I don't know where he is.  
  
Gal- _Ancell_ shrugs and stops us before we can leave.  
  
"I didn't know you had a _huge_ , sister complex but this is the first time we've seen her, isn't it?" Ancell raises an eyebrow at Alastor and the latter frowns more. Linnea elbows Ancell in an attempt to disperse the tension starting to rise and I do nothing since I can't care less if they start lunging for each other's throat right here, right now. However, it disgusts me that Alastor's hold on me is mistaken as excessive love.  
  
"A new face makes people curious so naturally I want to get to know Brienne more. Can I borrow some of her time, _big brother_?"  
  
Before Alastor can burst in anger because of the mockery, I grab his arm. I'm going to be the receiver of his wrath and I don't think I can handle much more if this continues on. A trickle of sweat falls down my back, summoning the energy to pool heat on my fingertips just like he did. I’ll burn him too. Two can play this game.  
  
"Wouldn't hurt to dance and chat with them," I force out and he narrows his eyes at me. I give him a defiant smile and try to hide the trembling of my hands. "Please, brother."  
  
"Give the girl what she wants," Linnea sniffs and then slyly coils an arm around Alastor's, "In exchange I'll keep you company."  
  
Alastor visibly winces but I couldn't be bothered with him when Ancell is already lending his hand to me. I gratefully take it before Alastor can say anything. Ancell leads me away; away from the monster I call my brother, and into the center of the ballroom floor. The relief I feel in my chest is quickly replaced with mild panic as I realize why we're here. Memories of failed dancing lessons floods my mind.  
  
"I can't really dance," I whisper in horror and Ancell hums with an amused smirk.  
  
"I'll just have to teach you then."  
  
So we dance and dance, him gracefully leading me with ease as he swirls me around the dance floor with practiced steps. When I step on him or stumble and I freeze in fear of making him mad, he doesn't say anything and merely continues on as if I'm not enough to hurt him. The thought of him coating his toes with metal comes to mind and I smile at myself for such a silly but plausible idea.  
  
"That was quite the feat you did earlier. Never seen anything like it, _angel_ ," Ancell says as he sways me from side to side, his grip on my waist and hand just to my liking. I smile at the 'praise' just like how I was taught even if my whole being finds it repulsive. It's the label the Reinolds pride themselves in. I want no part in it.  
  
" _Your_ performance was more remarkable. I've never seen anything like it." I mimic him but I'm not exactly lying either. I have never been allowed outside, not even to go visit the market or the public library. I have never seen any other faces besides my own kin so how could I witness a Metalhead bending metals as easily as they breathe? I can only imagine them as portrayed by the books my instructor had me read. An awful hag, that instructor was, and she spent most of the time complaining rather than teaching.  
  
"You flatter me." He smiles and I have to drop my gaze before I get charmed completely. He slows our pace and his hand on my waist shifts. I catch him steal a glance in Alastor’s direction and when he notices I’ve noticed, he shrugs.

  
"Being Alastor's sister must be an immense pain in the tush," he scoffs, his display of politeness falling apart in one clean swoop. I relish on Ancell's distaste for my brother and I push on the urge to ask even if I have an idea why. How can you like someone so cold, so condescending, so cruel. But then, it might be a personal grudge for something my brother had done. I wouldn't question if his coldness and arrogance go beyond the walls of our home.   
  
"Why do you think that?" I resist the smile that attempts to show on my face but I seem to be doing a very poor job because he raises an eyebrow in amusement. He leans in and glances at my wrist. He pulls me closer by the waist, his warmth enveloping me fully.  
  
"Why, I wonder," he whispers in my ear. It tickles; the sensation spreading in my body like small bites of electricity flowing through my veins. It feels good to know that I have a comrade, someone who understands why. Someone who sees my brother the same way I do. I smile in delight and this must be the happiest I've ever been for months.

  
"What, did he tell you that you were a waste of space? Not worth his time? An unpleasant sight to his eyes?" I whisper in return and he draws back. He searches my face for something I have not an idea about.  
  
"Did he tell all of those to you?" I hide my surprise at his question and put on the facade that the mistress helped create for situations like this. A tight smile and the act of indifference. The Reinolds has already exploited every weakness I have, I won't let the other Houses do so too. I shrug.  
  
"Only Fool knows." Ancell seems to sense he stepped on a landmine so he shifts and changes the subject, twirling me around with careful consideration.   
  
"Linnea likes him though." He blurts out randomly. I scrunch my face and he laughs as he leads me to the edge of the ballroom floor. Maybe he's gotten tired of dancing or maybe he's gotten tired of me. The latter stings a little.  
  
"Really?" I spit, not believing it. Why on the name of the Wicked would someone as beautiful, or _anyone at all_ , like Alastor? He doesn't even smile much and when he does, it makes every fiber in my body react in anger or in fear. Though, he does have his idiotic moments. I keep those to myself.  
  
"Really. She seems to find the thrill in the idea of making the proud prodigy of the isolated House go down on his knees and beg for her." Ancell's eyes stray and he smiles at a beautiful lady that passes by. The woman giggles in delight and so does Ancell, his eyes now shining with mischief. He is quick to return his gaze to me and I decide to ignore the scene because I don't really care.  
  
I mull over Linnea's reason to take an interest in my brother. She chose to stay behind and keep him company over joining us but, she also spoke ill of the Reinolds as if the name itself leaves a bitter taste on her mouth. I find it odd and funny. Is Alastor really that powerful to invoke the anger and desire of an Annihilator? Now that I think about it, the latter doesn't seem as absurd as the former and I frown in disappointment.  
  
Ancell licks his lips, his eyes now dart back and forth, looking for something or maybe finally realizing that there are more ladies better than me to keep company with. My time is up. As much as I want to get more dirt on Alastor and his relationships outside the House, I'd rather not hinder someone I barely know from his quest on wooing the ladies.   
  
"I'm afraid I have just remembered I need to go find my father." I squeeze his hand and he stops ogling at once, not looking guilty at all in having a woman take actions just to get his attention back. "I apologize but I must take my leave."  
  
"Of course," he answers and leads me outside the ballroom floor. I am suddenly aware of the aches the heels caused just from a little frolicking. Once we're there, he kisses my hand again as goodbye.  
  
"It was a pleasure to spend time with you. I'm sure there will be more chances for us to do so in the near future, Brienne." He carefully says my name as if it's something new and unfamiliar, letting his tongue taste each letter and syllable. That's probably what I am to him: _new and unfamiliar_. Being new and unfamiliar isn't enough to keep his attention, though. Maybe it's also because I don't want it that I don't bother catching his fancy.  
  
"I hope so too, Ancell." I give him a genuine smile because despite his wandering eyes, he brought me joy knowing that Alastor is a man not meant to be loved. It feels good knowing that it's true. It feels good that I’m not the one at fault for all my scars and miseries.  
  
The gesture and my words seem to surprise and entice him. His eyes widen, mouth dropping ever the slightest at the display. He quickly regains his composure as I drop my smile; it seems like he changed his mind from leaving me. However, someone slings an arm around him before he can offer to accompany me much longer.  
  
"Alastor doesn't do a good job in shielding you from predators, does he?" Father jeers and the sight of him alone brings forth warm feelings inside of me, happiness bursting in every part of my body. The smile that comes along with it feels like it'll rip my face in half. My fingers tingle in delight and I forget all my bearings as I tackle him with all I've got. I've been away from him for so long that I couldn't resist. The familiar smell of mint dominates my senses and all my worries fade away. He's finally within my grasps.  
  
And I'm finally here. I stand in the King's Castle as the contender he chose, uneasy but willing to go through everything for him.  
  
I barely hear Ancell muttering apologies and excusing himself from the great White Knight while father looks him on, smiling. Everything now forgotten, I look up at him while he steadies me with firm hands and I feel exactly like the child I am under his grasps.  
  
And then he turns to me, his silver hair illuminating under the lights of various chandeliers while it casts a shadow on his beautiful, beautiful face. He takes my breath away and I wouldn't question it if he suddenly tells me he's another god that the Fool blessed Zaflora with before he died. Or if he really is the son of the angel who had one of us as a lover.  
  
"You did a great job out there, doll." He cups my face and kisses my forehead. I couldn't contain my giggle. Even as he draws away, the warmth on my forehead lingers.  
  
"I did it for you, father." I say, breathless. It's an understatement to say I love father.  
  
_I worship him._


	6. Time Can't Fix Everything

Father pulls me out in a nearby balcony while he quickly mutters about how the crowd makes him dizzy and how he can't focus on me with so many people scurrying around. I don't blame him and the thought of him focusing on me sends a shot of thrill up my spine. I can’t stop smiling. I love it when he sees nothing but me. I, too, want to be alone with him. To be alone in our own world as father and daughter and nothing more.  
  
He smiles at me tenderly while he leans back towards the railings. his large hands tucking strands of hair that cover my face behind my ear. My heart hammers against my chest. If only we can stay like this forever.  
  
Suddenly, he sighs and I go cold wondering if I did something wrong.  
  
"Avilynn," he sneers the mistress's name as if she wasn't the mother who raised him. But then, I don't really understand their relationship to have the rights to say anything about it. I just know father dislikes her as much as she dislikes him. "I told her to stop dyeing your hair. Now it's ruined."  
  
Father has always loved my black hair. He says it makes me more beautiful than I already am; makes me stand out among the rest of the family. Makes me be _me_. I don't know whether to treat it as a blessing or a curse.  
  
I shake my head, dismissing the thought, and embrace him, pulling him tighter against me. I wish the time to let go never comes. I can't resist the tears, the fears, that comes out of me as broken sobs once it dawns on me that my safe haven is here. The mistress and Alastor's cruelness can't reach me when he's near.  
  
"I was so scared," I whisper and he embraces me back, loving me even in times of weaknesses. He tangles his fingers on my hair, pulling me closer. It’s suffocating. I love him too much, it’s suffocating me. "I thought that if I so much fail to control a single one of my flames, it'll be the end of me."  
  
Father pulls back to cradle my face between his hands, a frown pasted on his lips. His eyebrows furrow in concentration but there's a confused glint in his eyes. He wipes my tears away and despite the cold breeze of the autumn evening and his cold but gentle fingers, I feel warm.  
  
"The end of you?" He says, his tone incredulous. He gently pushes me away from him (I loathe parting), inspects me with keen eyes and then lifts the sleeves of my dress to see what possible damage has been done to my poor arms. He scowls at what he sees.  
  
"She said there was no need for me to stress myself balancing you and my Elite work because she'll take care of what I can't. That's why I left you to them." I wince when he grazes his fingers on the burnt flesh in my wrist. His expression is grim and even though it's not meant for me, I can't help but feel scared. "You're always clean and unmarked whenever I visit and in instances you have some sort of bruise, they always blame it as a product of training."  
  
His eyes go darker and his voice takes on a sharper edge. "I should have known. This is recent, is it not? Avilynn's not stupid enough to burn you in such an important day. Did your brother do this?"  
  
"It doesn't matter." I sniff and give him my best reassuring smile despite my nerves. Panic surges in my chest and I try not to tremble. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn't, now that he's here. I want him to stop making that face. I want him to simply swell in pride and look at me with the love I crave for so much. Nothing else matters.  
  
"Oh, but doll, it does." He says, voice laced with concern. It leaves no arguments for little, young Bri. It's bad to talk back against him. I've once stumbled upon him slap Alastor when my brother mistakenly lashed out over something I do not know about. Alastor flew across the room, the impact of his fall making a loud crunching noise. It was the first time I heard my brother weep. He donned a black eye a few days after that, father not letting any of the Healers get to him. That memory serves as a reminder for me to hold my tongue.  
  
He studies the burn on my wrist and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. I wince at the sharp sound.  
  
"Remember, even if you don't get chosen as an Elite, I won't hold it against you. There's no need to worry about your 'end'." Father's green eyes stares right through me and I know he means every word. I try not to cast my gaze down.  
  
If he won't hold it against me then why would he force me to be the contender in the first place? I didn't want this, I still don't and I doubt I will ever do. This responsibility of mine feels like chains and the moment I fail to see through it, I'm hellbound by the hands of the mistress.  
  
"I just want the whole of Zaflora to see that I have such a wonderful daughter and what other way to show it but the Choosing? It's where everyone's got their eyes on the champions and their enemies." He answers the questions I never dare ask, his eyes telling me something I cannot understand. I sense madness slowly slipping from the cracks of his mask and I do my best to ignore it.  
  
"But, the mistress-"  
  
"You don't need to listen to your wretched grandmother. One day, her pride will be her undoing." He scoffs and looks at my wound one more time with disgust before he covers it using my sleeves.  
  
"Let's get you healed. Come with me." I attempt to follow him when he makes for the ballroom but the pain caused by the blisters on the heel of my feet makes me stumble and I barely grab father before I crash onto the floor.  
  
He's into me in a split second, eyes wide and alarmed as he checks me for something much worse than the the burn mark on my wrist and the blisters on the heel of my feet.  
  
"I'm not used to these infernal shoes," I say, in order to calm him down. His wide eyes flicks to my feet and then to my face before he lets out a shaky breath he's been holding.  
  
"Bri?"  
  
Both of us snap our heads towards the large glass doors that leads to the balcony, the glitter of the ballroom embellishing the figure of the man stepping out of it. I frown. Great. My time with father isn't only mine now.  
  
Father's face goes red from anger and I fear that he will hit Alastor and embarrass my brother in front of all these Houses but, instead he stands and then cocks his head.  
  
"Perfect timing, Alastor."  
  
***  
  
The palace's infirmary looks exactly like it should; white, bland and dreadful. The Reinold House has one too and a lowborn Healer Noble with his Pawn assistant tends to everyone in there. I hate that place, although I'm a frequent visitor. That Healer is always on edge and I long speculated that the mistress has his kids hostage otherwise he wouldn't even bother to patch us up nor spare us a glance. The Pawn is a nice lady though and she's what makes the visits tolerable. She's very nice and she sometimes tells me stories about her family when we’re left alone. It's pathetic really. A highborn Noble jealous of a lowly Pawn's familial relationships.  
  
Alastor begrudgingly carried me on the way under father's orders and laid me down in one of the soft white beds lining the room. None of us can refuse the old man, even if the gesture makes each of us gag, especially when he watches us closely. Alastor stands next to the bed after and he keeps his distance. Good. I've had enough of him.  
  
I stare at father as he talks to the palace doctor, his posture so sure in ways I can never understand. Has he always been this way or did the Choosing change him? Will the Choosing change me? I'll find out soon.  
  
The palace doctor turns in our direction and the first thing that catches my attention are the stitches above his nose that stretches horizontally across his face. Another scar cuts through his lips and chin, giving him a permanent sneer. He looks straight out of a horror story. Is this how doctors supposed to look like? Aren't they supposed to be clean and reassuring? He could have at least fixed himself before fixing somebody else.  
  
His misty green eyes flicks to me for a second as if he senses my discomfort before he looks back to father, sighing. Long, bony fingers comb through his thick gray hair and if he wasn't a Healer, I would have mistaken him as part of the Reinold House. He looks dull and faded, as if he’s just waiting for the day that he will turn to ashes. He shoulders past father and stalks towards me, pulling a chair that he can sit on while he attends to my ails. I try not to flinch. I don't want him anywhere near me.  
  
"You've grown well, Brienne." He offers a cruel crooked smile and I smile back just to be polite even if million questions are now popping inside this little head of mine. Why does he know me? Does father talk about me all the time, enough for the palace doctor to know about the cursed daughter? Is he and father friends?  
  
"My name's Gavin Dame. I'm the palace's head doctor."  
  
He takes my feet first and holds it up carefully with practiced ease. His touch feels feather-light and his fingers doesn't seem real at all. A sudden light bursts through his hands, resembling a clock with its hands turning anti-clockwise and the blisters disperse as the time on the patch of skin turns back. I hold a breath. He's not a Healer. _He's a Clock_.  
  
My wrist comes next and I try not to freak as I watch time fly back on my flesh.  
  
It's strange. My skin feels mine and yet not. It's new, unmarked and young but it doesn't feel real. It's uncomfortable. As if it doesn't exactly fit its place. I know certain Clocks can mend people but now that I've experienced their touch, I'll choose Healers in a heartbeat.  
  
"You should be more careful with yourself," Gavin clucks his tongue at me and I have to stop myself from wincing at the sound. They should really stop doing that. It makes me jump.  
  
I glance at Alastor and try to make out his reaction even though I doubt it's the first time he's seen a Clock at work. He stares ahead, at father, who watches Gavin with steady eyes. There's something in Alastor's gaze. Resentment? Disappointment? Or is it _pity_?  
  
I was broken out of my stupor when loud hurried footsteps dominates the corridor outside and it comes closer and closer until it finally stops in front of the infirmary doors. I can see the shadow of the person slip through the cracks underneath and somehow the dread into my stomach twists into something more. The doors sling open and what I suspected to be a burly man is nothing more but a thin woman that looks like she's in her mid-thirties. She has the same caramel hair as Dor, though it is cut short unlike his is.  
  
"White Knight," she says, her black eyes momentarily glancing at me. She presses her mouth in a thin line before she straightens up and looks at father dead in the eyes. "The King is looking for you."  
  
Father's face twists into something unpleasant. "Already?" I hear him whisper low under his breath before he faces Gavin and gives him a tight-lipped smile. A threat hidden in plain sight. Gavin doesn't even bother looking at father when he reminds him to be careful with me.  
  
"I have to go, Bri." Father kisses my cheek as goodbye like he always does and ice settles itself on my chest. I loathe the gesture and those words; it meant that he's leaving me once again and with my abusers, free to do and say what they want. I almost reach out to him instinctively until I remind myself that I'm in the King's Palace. Grandmother won't reach me here. Everyone's eyes will always see hints of their cruelty.  
  
I'm safe here. _I hope_.  
  
Father seems to see fear pass on my face because he grips Alastor's shoulder and smiles the cruel smile I've seen him wear so many times, just never directed at me. He whispers in my brother's ear and the latter visibly tense and recoil in father's touch.  
  
I watch as the unknown woman grips father's arm when he stands close enough for her to drag him into the left corridor. If I didn't know better, it looked like the woman was disoriented with my presence and was about to give father the lecture of the lifetime for bringing his cursed daughter near the King of all people.  
  
"She's the Glenn Elite," Gavin says. I snap my attention back to him and he puts down my hand. I immediately hold it close to my chest, reminded of the awful sensation that his ability gave me. The Glenn Elite? What is she to Dor? His mother? What is she to father? Gavin doesn't intend to entertain me further because he stands and turns his back to me.  
  
"Seriously, Chros is absurd." He hisses. He looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes towards us, green slashing us to bits and pieces as he devours all that he can read from us. From me. I find myself holding on to something. I grip the sheets of the bed to hide my fear.  
  
Gavin starts to mutter to himself about how peculiar it is that I lived at all, that I was a success and that he doubts a burn by my brother and the blisters on my feet will be enough to break me. I gulp. I don't understand. Lastly, he tells me that father is mental.  
  
"I guess it's because the girl resembles the mother." He says to himself before going back to his spot, a pot of roses perched on his table. He was cutting its thorns.  
  
The mention of our mother makes me and my brother tense. I curse under my breath and I force myself to hiss a 'thank you' before stomping out the infirmary in bare feet. Alastor follows close. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know where to go. Jealousy and contempt fills my body for the woman I never knew but allegedly shared the same face with. It hurts. My chest tightens and I feel like I just got stabbed. The red blood walls starts to close in and suddenly I'm inside the rotten heart that the mistress possess. Her words throb inside my head and the air that I need refuses to accommodate me.  
  
Before I can curl myself into a ball in the middle of an empty corridor with the music of the ballroom whispering through the walls, Alastor grips my arm and yanks me towards a passageway. His piercing gaze makes me shiver but he eventually brings his eyes down, hiding something. Always hiding. Never telling me why.  
  
Hiding everything he knows about the woman our father loved.  
  
_Father's twin sister. Our mother._


	7. The Prince

I wake the next morning with a boy who looks like father breathing evenly beside me, our yesterday clothes crumpled with fatigue and sleep. I blink once, twice, to adjust my eyes with the light that's streaming through the windows. It blankets the boy with a lovely glow. I had to blink thrice to see that the boy is Alastor.  
  
A frown grazes my lips and I twist my body so that I face away from him before I get the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. I refuse to recall the night we had together, with him comforting me by leading me to my room and staying with me until I calmed down. He even gave me a celebratory gift for being one of the contenders, whispered words of encouragement as he pierced my skin and kissed away the tears. His lips burned my skin and I absolutely hated it. I was too tired to even bother going against him. I can't believe I've stooped so low to accept his rare act of kindness. I don't want to waver on my hatred; he probably wants something in return. _Or he sympathizes with the pain caused by our mother_ , a voice inside my head tells me. I don't listen to it.  
  
Curse the Clock for mentioning that woman. It physically hurts whenever they talk about her. _A Weldt's whore_ , the mistress calls her. I was ten when it slipped her tongue during an argument with father and father furiously grabbed her throat and...  
  
I force my eyes shut and touch my throat. He burned her. The memory of mistress's cries still makes me shiver. I don't want to remember it. Father was terrifying. 

  
She may be the reason why the mistress hates me and why father feels love for me. My chest hurts. I hate her. Why am I to pay for that woman's sins? Why does it seem like I owe her for father's love? Why doesn't Alastor get a part of it? Is it because I have her face and he doesn't? If I didn't look like her, will father even pay attention to me?

I shake my head. No. Father loves me because I am his daughter, because I am Brienne Reinold. Because I am me.

I don't want anything to do with our mother; it brings nothing but pain to everyone. There's a reason they don't act like she existed and I doubt it's just because of being another house's whore.  
  
I inhale sharply before I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Despite the Clock's touch, my whole body still aches. There's a familiar tingle of silence that I can't quite put my finger on. It disturbs me. 

My right ear throbs and I reach for the ornament that now hangs from it. The metal pin that Alastor used to pierce through my skin still sits on the cloth that was used to wipe all the blood and pain away. I had to turn away from it. Let the maids dispose of it.  
  
"What time is it?" I flinch as a groan erupts from Alastor's chest. I ignore his question. I feel him shuffle and I have to stand before he can reach for me, always using those hands to inflict pain or provide comfort. There's no in-between. I start to strip instead, eager to rid myself of this ugly clothes enveloped with my brother's scent until I catch sight of a girl in the corner of my eyes.  
  
A large mirror with black metal roses as decoration stands in front of me and it reflects a sad girl and a cruel boy behind her with his crumpled clothes and heavenly glow. He's staring at me with those drowsy pair of soft and cruel green eyes. My eyes stray to his cropped silver hair that stands in different directions and I muse over how I’ve never seen him this way. Sleep still lingers on his lovely face and he looks so gentle, like father, that I couldn't help but feel that the world is mocking me by showing me this side of him. I grit my teeth.  
  
I want to break the glass, to erase that image from existence and from my head but I stop myself. I avert my gaze instead.  
  
"Where did they keep my clothes?"  
  
"Where do you think? Are you blind or just painfully idiotic?" He snaps and sits up, brushing his hair back with a scowl. Looks like he's fully awake. I'm glad that he's started to look like Alastor again.  
  
I don't fall into his trap and instead I head for one of the closets whilst cursing him under my breath. I swing open its doors and as expected, a monochromatic set of clothes greets me, some of it the ones I usually wear back at the manor. I roll my eyes. It was stupid to wish that I could wear colorful clothes once I stepped into the King's Palace.  
  
I look at the clock hanging on the maroon wall over the door, its black hands twisting like vines as it points to six. Will I even have the time to take a bath? What was the schedule again?  
  
Just then, a knock raps through the door and Alastor stands to get it, much to my chagrin. The last thing I want is people suspecting there's something going on between us because of the Reinolds' incestuous traditions. Dor told me it wasn't normal. Wasn't a surprise, to be honest.  
  
The door reveals two guards and a large, dark skinned woman with several other young maids lined up behind her. One of them holds on to a cart filled with an assortment of bread and trays, a bottle of milk and a bowl of soup. I'm suddenly reminded of my hunger when I catch whiff of the food. I lost my appetite quite early last night so I didn't have the chance to try food from the banquet.  
  
My eyes stray to the guards when I feel two pair of eyes staring at me and sure enough, they’re ogling. I have to turn away with a scowl so they can't see me in my half naked glory. They look more like clones than twins, the only difference being the Rucorna mark that brand their cheeks. I glare at them when they continue staring and I see a semblance of a smile in the right twin.  
  
The dark skinned maid scrunches her nose at the sight of Alastor, displeased. Nonetheless, she bows her head and the maids behind her follow. I don't see any mark in her. It could be hidden. She doesn't have the air of a Pawn.  
  
"We're here to serve Lady Reinold, my lord."  
  
Alastor nods and then makes his way out with the two guards in tow, closing the door behind them with a soft creak. I'm left with the maids; some of them heading straight to the bed and some heading to the bathroom to prepare a bath. A couple of them eye the metal pin and the bloody cloth but they say nothing and just immediately dispose of it, no questions asked. I have to bite the inside of my cheek in delight.   
  
"I'm Jorjia, milady. I'll be tending to you during your stay here." Jorjia glares at the assortment of clothes in this room's wardrobe like it’s offended her a great deal. I crack a smile and I have to reprimand myself from obtaining happiness from people's vexation.  
  
"The King will meet the contenders at eight for a briefing and then sparing practice will occur at 10. I advise to wear training clothes, milady." Her tone suddenly turns sweet as if she's goading a child into doing what she wants but her face remains stoic so it does nothing but make me uncomfortable. She's like a machine. She didn't need to put in the effort. Before I can pick out an outfit, she snaps her fingers and a maid comes close to wrap me in a towel.  
  
"Breakfast first before a bath, milady," The maid timidly says, her head down out of respect or in fear or purely because it's what she's taught to do. She steps back. The dark skinned woman pushes me towards the table.  
  
The smell of bacon, eggs, baked goods and chicken broth fills my nose and I could barely stop my mouth from watering. I'm well fed back at the manor, that being one of the luxury I'm not denied with since I'm a representative of our family, but the food served here outstands the food back home just by looks alone. And it's just breakfast. I'm excited with the feast we'll be having later.  
  
I take a bite out of a toast and I almost moan in delight. It's heavenly.  
  
I've already devoured half the table when one of the maids emerges from the bathroom with her head hung low. She gestures for me to enter the bath. I oblige.  
  
The bathroom is spacious and the tub is large, its marble gleaming with water while the scent of lavender fills the air. Steam fills the room, dampening my skin and at the edge of the tub are two maids waiting for me to get in. I grimace. Why won't they get out? I can bathe myself just fine. But, alas, Jorjia ushers me towards the tub just like she did earlier and I have no choice but to fully strip and get in.  
  
It's embarrassing for others to see too much of me but the warmth and comfort the waters provide eventually drowns out the embarrassment. One of the maids lathers my hair with rose scented shampoo. I exhale, lean back and take this luxury of being served. I have the shame to not let the other maid wash my body so, instead, she daintily sets rose petals on the water.  
  
For a short while I forget who I am and think of myself as a spoiled little girl who has no worries in the world. I wish I could stay here forever and drown my worries down. Drown me. I lift my hand and let one little flame dance between my fingers, briefly finding it odd how I seem to easily control it. Maybe, because I feel good. I continue to play with my flame as I hum. Torches are usually scared of water but that notion doesn't apply to us; we're above them. I could set water on fire without blinking.  
  
The maid setting petals winces away from me, her hands trembling ever so slightly and once I've taken a good look at her I notice that a shadow of a burn, covered by the sleeves of her uniform, runs through her arm. I immediately extinguish my flame. Either she got caught up in a fire or a Torch punished her for whatever mistake she committed. What a poor creature. I stare at my arms and I think of all the scars that used to be there. They weren't made to be recalled.  
  
The one that washed my hair mutters that it's almost eight and though it annoys me to get out of this haven, I heave myself up.  
  
I exit the room wrapped in a bathrobe and I'm guided by some of them towards the vanity mirror. They skitter a lot like rats. The maids back at the manor move like that too. They begin to dry me throughout, yank my hair and call it combing, paint my face (I have to tell them to don't put too much) and cloth me with a white tunic, black pants and black vintage boots. 

A smile creeps into my lips once they're done, pleased with them and their work. I actually look decent. Myself. _Me_ even with this wretched face and cursed white hair.  
  
I give them my thanks and Jorjia gestures for them to leave and they do (with a confusing look on their faces) but she remains with me, scrutiny heavy in her eyes. She starts to circle around me, her height towering a few feet and I try not to crumble under her gaze. She's just a Pawn and if she isn't then she must be a low ranking Noble. A powerful Noble won't ever settle for being a maid. They use their strength to serve themselves; to kill whoever defies them or stands in their way.  
  
I can kill her and the King wouldn't even bat an eye.  
  
I scoff. "What?"  
  
She doesn't answer me. She doesn't answer anything.  
  
Jorjia heads straight for the door to open it and waits for me to get out. I was tempted to stay rooted to my spot until she explains what in the world she was or was not telling me but the clock is ticking and the King won't wait for someone as irrelevant as me. I swallow and will my feet to start moving. Have I done something wrong? Why am I being judged by a fucking Pawn?  
  
The twin guards follow us in a distance, battle axes close to their sides while they busy themselves by whispering gossips to each other. I strain to hear just to distract myself but to no avail. I do learn though that their names are Van and Val. I just don't know which is which. Jorjia shushes them with a glare once they get too loud, the twins quick in snapping their mouths shut. This woman confuses me. The twins doesn’t let that faze them though because they start to whisper again when Jorjia turns back.  
  
"Lady Reinold." A voice I've heard before greets from a distance and as I raise my gaze, my stomach churns with dread. Oh no. _Not him_. How am I supposed to act with him?  
  
"Your Highness." I curtsy and Jorjia follows, bowing lower than I do. The guards remain still but they've long abandoned their hushed discussion as the menace walks towards us. They have no need to talk in front of their ruler.  
  
Prince Zyndel smiles at me and I try not to let him take my breath away. He's absolutely stunning this close, his brown hair swept back in a handsome manner while his blue eyes are filled with delight. I have to clench my jaw when he lends an arm out to me. This could all be fake, a lie, a warp of reality. I wouldn't know. You can never trust a Liar.  
  
"Walk with me?" He asks, his ocean eyes flitting to Jorjia as a message to drive her away. The woman immediately gets the memo and excuses herself, making me almost go insane. I relax my shoulders when I realize that the twins stay. I'm glad that they stay. Warpers are bad news; they're basically gods who can change reality without anybody noticing. I wonder, if he erased me from existence, will the twins even remember me?  
  
I take his arm and try to smile. The gesture feels awkward so I stop. Being near the prince is unnerving. He's so close. I can burn his fair skin underneath my fingers; to defy and devour a god just like how his blood did once a long time ago.  
  
"You were gone early from the banquet last night." Zyndel starts as we walk through the corridors. The thought of the Liar prince looking for me yesterday night sets a chill on my spine.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm not exactly used to such activities that I couldn't quite keep up, Your Highness." I offer politely. He hums. Fear eats away at my skin. The vibration of his chest every time he utters a word or make a noncommittal sound is distracting. I feel like I don't belong beside him; it feels wrong to even touch him.   
  
"It's a surprise you noticed. I'm not exactly one that a prince would look for," I say, words sticking to my throat. He stops in his tracks and my heartbeat quickens. Time seems to slow. I don't want to look at him. He puts a hand on top of mine, his hand burning through my ice cold skin. Mine pales in comparison to his and I don't know if it's my natural color or if it's the blood draining from my hands.  
  
"There's no need for an angel to be scared of a Warper. Even we can't put a stop to that infernal fires of yours." He chuckles.  
  
_As if_. As if that would comfort me. _Lies, lies, lies._ I slip my hand away from his and take a few steps back. Every part of my body is aflame in fear and shame. But most importantly, anger.  
  
"I think there is much justice in a human fearing a god, Your Highness." I try to control my voice and I can feel warmth spreading through my nape and cheeks. I'm not an angel. I want to tear this white hair off of my head to show that I'm not one of them; they who doesn't have their wings.  
  
"Such temper. As expected of Chros’s daughter," he muses. He then waves his hand dismissively.  
  
"Did you only come to me to see what I'm like?" I grit my teeth. He shrugs.  
  
"I didn't come to you. I merely bumped into you, Lady Reinold."  
  


"Did you now, Your Highness?" I ask.  
  
Zyndel narrows his eyes, mirth evident in them yet he doesn't say anything more and I feared for a second that he might just do me right here, right now. But, he only squares his shoulders and leaves without goodbye, pride radiating from the Liar prince.  
  
The twins poke my middle with their battle axes when the prince is in the clear and I could only gasp in disbelief and relief. I look back at them and they cock their heads for me to keep moving. I clench my jaw but I will myself to move while ignoring how my hands tremble from fear. Before I knew it, the twins had already caged me in between them.  
  
"He's human, you know," The righty says. I snort. They were too quiet earlier, I don't think anything they say will hold any candle to me now.  
  
Lefty adds, "After all, it's in human nature to lie, isn't it?"


	8. Flames

I met Dor when I was nine. It was underneath the oak tree that was sandwiched between the walls of the Reinolds’ and Glenns’ gardens. I loved it there. It was when the darkness of my hair blended in with the shade and with the barks of that glorious tree. I wept that day. I wept because I had just gotten off a horrible fight with Alastor. The mistress punished me for it. She made my arms bleed.

Dor said he was awakened by my sobs, having been napping behind a bush, despite my best efforts to stay quiet. He asked me what was wrong and I muffled my sobs hoping he would go away. I was scared and upset but the boy oddly took that as a cue to complain about what he had to go through every day, with his mother constantly nagging him to practice when all he wanted to do was sleep. Said he's anemic and that made him tire easily and it's horrible because he had no energy to do what he's asked of.

Anger bloomed in my chest. How easy was life for him and he still had the gall to complain.  _ What a fucking wuss _ , I called him and the cracks that spread through my core bursted like a broken dam. Everything poured out, each and every hurt. Each and every hurt I had with the cuts littered on my small arms and the loathing of my own blood.

Dor apologized then with that soft voice of his.

It was the first time I received an apology. It’s like receiving water after years of being dehydrated.

In that moment, he became my oasis.

I had to wake Dor several times during the briefing because Linnea was glaring daggers at him from her seat and he just can’t help but fall asleep. I did my best to act like I'm listening while discreetly pinching Dor on the thigh. It would be bad if he just blew up before the Choosing officially kicked off. Dor retaliated by flicking my hand away.

He told me after that he didn't get enough sleep last night because he spent the early evening being nagged by his mother and the late hours searching for me in the banquet. He apologized for not being able to accompany me and I teased him about how I'm going to replace him with Ancell. He just smirked and told me that Ancell wouldn't keep me. I had to agree.

Practice comes later and Dor surprises me yet again by lightly tapping the earring that Alastor gave me with his finger. My ear still hurts and I'm worried that maybe it's been infected. Hopefully not. I treasure my ears very much, thank you.

"Didn't wear this yesterday. Piercing seems new too. Your father gave it to you?" He asks. I shift uncomfortably.

"Alastor did."

"A blood jewel, huh." He muses and crosses his arms. "Do you know that it's a Pawn's invention?"

I raise an eyebrow. A Pawn's invention. This beautiful earring? What is it now? I read somewhere during one of my lessons that Pawns materialise magic that the lands give, being made with the purpose of maintaining the stability of Zaflora and all, and they make useful inventions out of it. They make technology and yet the Nobles treat them like ants. This world truly is a tad bit unfair.

So, what is it? A self-destructing earring? I wouldn't doubt it. Alastor gave me this after all and as far as I know he wants me dead.

Dor senses my skepticism and he gingerly pats me on the back, reassuring me. He's always known I hate Alastor so I wouldn't doubt it if he guessed that I was already contemplating whether I'd throw this blood jewel into the bin or not.

"It either works like a muffler or a booster. Depends on the blood poured inside that jewel," he explains. I furrow my brows, confused. Whoever invented this is a bit mental. Who in their right minds would think of pouring blood inside a jewel and then activate it as some kind of ‘muffler’ or ‘booster’?

"If Alastor gave you a blood jewel with his blood then it will most likely boost your flames. If Linnea's blood is in there, it will make you more vulnerable to her power but, if it's my blood, your powers will be nullified a little."

I grow cold. I don't know how to feel and suddenly the fatigue this morning makes sense. I want to give Alastor a beating. I eye Dor's arms; he's always covered himself up with bandages ever since we were young. A Nullifier's blood. I hope it’s not from him.

"That's sweet of Alastor. You better keep wearing it." Dor flashes a gentle smile. I reluctantly smile back.

I don't trust it but I still wear it anyway. Alastor was being considerate and there's the possibility he asked Dor a favor. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but if Dor went along with this, I must at least appreciate it no matter how wrong it makes me feel. 

A part of me feels the emptiness and I seek refuge from it, a small haven to comfort me that I wouldn't burn this whole place into the ground and be charged with treason. Not like there's much reason to use our abilities. We'll be sparing with our fists and weapons. I pick a dagger. Dor picks a sword.

"You'll be okay with just that?" He asks and I turn the silver dagger in my hand to inspect it. Its blade gives off a deadly glint, mirroring my horrid face. I'm not really a fit individual and the dagger is the only weapon I willingly learned how to use. I want a weapon as small as possible to attack the mistress with. I might have to learn how to use needles next.

"You know what, maybe I'll go for the big axe and use this strong body of mine to kill you." I joke and attempt to turn back to the weaponry. Dor laughs and then grabs my shoulder to kiss me on the cheek. My ears flush and my knees turn weak. Fool forbid I turn to mush because this friend of mine is such a sweetheart.

"Flirting so early in the morning, have you no shame?" Ancell pipes up, mischief on his tone, and shoulders past us to pick up a sword with that usual bored look on his face. He looks at it and just nods along as Dor defensively explains himself for doing such a gesture. I clear my throat.

"Not using your sword today?" I ask. He shrugs and it almost seems like he’s another person entirely without the mirth he showed me yesterday. Is he not a morning person?

"No reason to." Ancell swings the sword with practiced ease before pointing it at me, its sharp edge almost reaching my throat. My hands itch and I resist the urge to throw the dagger at his head.

"My sword is for taking lives, Lady Brienne." He smiles and the normalcy of it sends a chill on my spine. As if the notion of taking lives is not a big deal. His green eyes stares at me like it sees a prey and I would have spit on his face if not for the hand that knocks the sword off my direction. Linnea comes between us, shielding me away from Ancell.

"Okay, lover boy. An awful lot of blood it drew yesterday," she mocks before picking up a battle axe herself. Ancell doesn’t seem too phased with her insult as he merely shrugs and sheaths the sword to his side. 

Linnea’s hair is done like it was yesterday and she looks much taller in pants. She turns her eyes to Dor and I and greets us good morning. We do the same.

A high pitched squeal startles the daylights out of me as a figure with golden hair tackles Ancell out of nowhere. He holds his ground and judging by Dor and Linnea’s reaction, or rather the lack of it, I’m going to assume that this is a frequent scene; the Morey contender attacking Ancell and almost giving the people around the man a heart-attack.

She litters Ancell's face with kisses and only stops when he shoves her off of him, annoyed. I thought he'd show more delight in receiving affection from a beautiful woman than how he’s acting now, since he seems quite the womanizer, but apparently not. The moment he’s out of her grasps, he sprints.  
  
"Oh, he's just shy," Morey sighs dreamily before daintily picking up a sword without touching it with her ability. She lets it twirl into the air as she stares at Ancell's retreating figure, manipulating gravity the way she wants to. That's probably how she appeared too, literally falling from above. Drifters are quite unnerving people. Or maybe it’s just this girl. 

Her honey eyes then flick to me and it seems like only now do I register just how beautiful she is. Her freckles looks like constellations.

“Oh.” She grimaces at the sight of me. “The angel.”

She doesn’t seem as pretty to me now.

“Aurea, don’t be rude,” Dor scoffs beside me. Linnea takes it as her duty to introduce the golden maiden to me and me to the golden maiden, although the mentioned female doesn’t seem to like me very much because I apparently stole Ancell from her last night. I keep my smile no matter how much this woman irks me with how childish she’s acting. If I had known, I would have shoved Ancell down her throat.

It seems like she’s a good friend of Dor’s and Linnea’s and I have to keep my jealousy in check upon witnessing the familiarity they share with one another. Especially her and Dor. It sucks that they’ve been together all their life while I was rotting away inside the Reinold manor, cowering and miserable. It sucks knowing that Dor has a life in which I am not a part of. Still, I smile as they converse. 

Linnea and Aurea’s interactions seems to confirm my suspicion that the spontaneous attack yesterday was planned. Aurea sneers at me when she notices my stare and she tells me that Linnea likes my brother. Wanted to send him a message so he can turn his eyes to her. Linnea kicks her in the shin. What an odd way to show affection.

Other contenders starts flooding in and when everyone’s got their preferred weapons and are currently doing their warm-ups, the King emerges with father. My heart starts racing because of how dazzling father looks on his armor with his silver braid and mischievous smile. I wouldn’t blame the King on why he’s so enamored with father to even make him his personal knight. He looks every inch the part.

Princess Victoria follows behind, wearing the jet black military uniform with the Leiss' house crest on its sleeve; a triangle with a leaf inside of it and three curved lines to indicate wind. She may be the biological daughter of the royal crown, that much is evident by how she looks so much like the Queen, but she's not a Warper. She's not an Ahrloden by nature but, she still stands proud.  
  
"Why are her eyes closed?" I whisper to Dor. He merely shrugs. I rarely see Victoria herself even in newspapers but I've never seen her with her eyes open. Her brown lashes are always pressed close together but it never seems like she’s sightless. She moves with more grace than any royal blood I’ve seen does. If anything, it looks like she can see everything.  
  
The King starts addressing us and then orders one of the lowborn Nobles to bring him the names. A man comes with his head hung low and hands a parchment to the King, faltering a little when his hands brushes the King's fingers. He pales. Even in one race, there's a hierarchy. 

  
He starts calling out names, pairing contenders after contenders. _Gale and Kirshner, Glenn and Lacount, Morey and Ormond, Stavins and Holleran_. 

Something is wrong. I thought this was practice.

  
"Reinold and Weldt." My breath hitches and I look at father. He smiles the unnerving smile that, for the life of me, I can never understand.  
  
Lowborn Nobles guide us inside circles that are engraved to the soil of the courtyard, it's outline filled with stones that I've never seen before. It feels weird to be in here. It's as if there's a field.  
  
I refuse to look at the Weldt contender even as she steps inside opposite of where I am, her boots crunching the soil underneath with her weight. I know her. She's the girl with vivid brown eyes and dull red hair. Her name is Mara. She's afraid of me.  
  
Families start flooding in, their faces grave as they look at us one by one. Some are nervous. I look around. There's no Healers around nor Clocks that are assigned to help us.  
  
My eyes find Alastor and, there's the shadow of fear in his face as he stares into my eyes. I understand. I've spent all my life looking at his face, looking for some kind of weakness, and it taught me that every twitch of his muscle has a reason. He's afraid and I know I should be afraid too.  
  
This is the first test. We're going to eliminate the weak.  
  
"Only one from the pair will leave the circle." Father's voice resonates across the field and it sends a chill through my spine. I grip the dagger in my hand tighter.  
  
This is a fight to the death.  
  
Mustering up all my courage, I look at Mara and feel the flames inside me swirl with anger. I taste them. The girl pales as it dawns on her what all this is. I'm not going to die. I don't want to die. No, not early in this game with all the Houses watching. I won't let it.  
  
And what better way to start this by killing the contender from the House that ensnared my mother?  
  
This is probably what father had in mind. 

Revenge.  
  
" _Bleed Noble blood!_ "  
  
War cries from different Houses echo through the courtyard as they lunge at each other's throats, hungry for blood or screaming out their despair. Different abilities clash with one another without regards to their roots and friendships. I let Mara douse herself in blessed water, a precaution of other Houses before fighting a Dark Torch, while her red flames circle around her, protecting her in case I attack. I watch them. I watch as they clumsily flicker outside the circle. They can't. Nothing escapes whatever barrier the stones put up around us. Knowing that gives me great pleasure.  
  
I raise hell.  
  
Mara immediately gets out of the way of the ring of dark fire that I've put up, its smoke encircling us in a pit. She glares and points her flaming sword at me, suddenly looking very different from the frightened girl earlier. Maybe, it was just an act. Or maybe this is.  
  
" _Angel_ ," Mara sneers. "I will rip your fucking wings off!"  
  
Mara charges towards me, her sword of flames ready to strike while some swirl around her as a barrier. She thinks she's safe. Thinks the blessed water can save her from me. I don’t exactly know how that damn thing works. I only know little of it and that the mistress despises it. All of them actually. It's a man-made weakness that the Weldt apparently pioneered.

But, I won’t let that stop me.  
  
I raise my hand. I admit it makes me nervous but in a domain where I can let loose, I'm not afraid at all. She's cornered. My flames overpower hers. I know I have the upper hand.  
  
I shoot flames towards her and she dodges, making sure not to come in contact with it at all. She's still being careful. We start to dance, two kind of flames creating a waltz of their own. Controlling my flames seems like an easy task now and I try not to feel the weight that's hanging in my ear. I dodge while she attacks, fury evident in each swing and yet she still seems like she's holding back.  
  
Mara corners me against the edge of the circle and towards my weakening ring of fire. She uses that as an advantage and puts up a barrier of her own. Smoke fills my senses but I'm so used to it that it doesn't even make me cough anymore. She raises her sword over my head, ready to strike me down.  
  
And then her flames turn black.  
  
Mara yelps and immediately lets go of her sword as if she's touched something hot. She ducks and angles her feet so she doesn't run into me or my flames; her body shifting to the other side in an attempt to flee. I don't let the moment of fluster slide by me. I knock her down by her feet and straddle her once she’s on the ground, raising my dagger in one swift move. Flames encircle around her wrists and around us, forming a cocoon. She makes an inhuman sound, much like an animal dying. I wince. I'm not going to let her escape even as she thrashes around in struggle and pain. She's mine to kill. She's mine to devour. I'm gonna devour her like my flames devoured hers.  
  
Adrenaline pounds into my veins, my heart thumping into my throat. I want to vomit. I feel cold and hot at the same time. Is this it? I only have to stab her. Why can't I move? I curse under my breath and she laughs.  
  
" _Just do it_ ," she hisses. I don't understand Mara. She's erratic. One moment she's weak and another she's a vicious wrench. I'm scared of her unpredictability. I’m scared of how she accepts death. She writhes in pain. Why? The blessed water should at least save her from burning. It should extinguish my flames. Based on my lessons, that's how it should work. Has the effect on her worn off? Or the blessed water she had is ineffective?  
  
"What are you waiting for, you monster?!" Mara screams, full of anger. A second later, she starts crying, letting out heartbreaking sobs. Mutters about how she wants mommy and how she wants to go home. She calms down after a minute and then talks about how she can’t feel her hands. How her father is such a _fucking failure_. She's mental. It’s like something's missing. I wrap a hand on her throat.  
  
" _Damnwick angel_ ," she starts muttering, "Did nothing good. Monsters, all of them."  
  
Her eyes clear up and for the first time, it seems like she finally sees me even though we've been going for each other's throats for the past minutes. Recognition flashes to her face and she laughs through her tears and pain. It smells like burnt flesh.  
  
"Brienne Reinold, the ‘second’ child of Chros and Caitlyn Reinold." Her voice is hoarse and her words feels like a curse. I put gaps in the flame cocoon. I want them to see. _I want them to see_.  
  
"Father says you look like your mother," Mara chuckles although she struggles due to my hold on her throat. "A pretty little bird, he tells me."  
  
I swallow down my anger, trying to regain composure. I let her talk. She looks like she has more to say. I can feel how fast her heartbeat is from the pulse on her neck. How easy it is to slit her throat.  
  
"Told me your mother was good in bed too.” I stiffen. If father heard this, he’d be livid. My head hurts and I swear I see spots. I can’t determine whose heart I hear anymore.

“ _A damnwick whore_ , she is." Mara spits into my face and it takes all of my energy not to ram my fist into her face. I start to choke her, press my hands tighter but she still has the gall to smile. To smile at me. Belittle me. _Fucking worm._ I grit my teeth. I should kill her, rip her stupid smile off of her face. Make her bleed and make her scream like the whore she accuses my mother of being. Fear flashes in her eyes. Who cares, _who cares, who cares_. I don’t. I see black. Wrath has taken its hold in my heart. _How dare she? How dare they take pride in corrupting my mother?_ _She has no right_. My whole body feels hot and my hands become wet. Wet with what, I don't know. _No right at all._ My face is wet too and I don't know if it's the tears. I want to cry out. _I want father_. _I want mother_. The rage is killing me. I can't breathe.  

I can hear her gurgled cries fade into nothing.  
  
I can't breathe. I blink. _Red_. There's red. I blink again and my hands are covered in red. _Blood_. I look down. Mara lies lifeless beneath me with the dagger in her chest. Her once vivid brown eyes now lost its light. She died afraid. 

I scream and clamber away from her, wiping my hands to anything just to get her blood off of me. 

It's her fault. She made me kill her. She has a dirty mouth. Cruel people deserve to die. It's part of the game, I convince myself. My flames mock me, laugh before they devour the poor girl and burn her into a crisp.  
  
_No, no, no, don't_. I reach out and with my remaining strength, try to make them disappear. They do but, not before half of Mara burned. I can't breathe. I look around when the flames clear and find my House looking at me. The mistress looks pleased. I search for father and he, too, looks pleased. I want to disappear.  
  
A lowborn Noble fetches me from the circle and urges me to stand up. I can't. I move away from him, scared of what I might do if he gets too close. He watches me with fascination. You should be scared, mister. _I'm a murderer._ __  
  
He flashes me an ugly grin before straightening up and announcing the words that should make me happy but don't. I hear similar announcements from next to me but I don't bother looking. I shut my eyes. I don't want to see another corpse.  
  
"Glory to the Reinolds! Glory to the House of Dark Flames!"  
  
The chilling cheers of the Reinold House resonates through the field along with the other Houses' celebrations and wails of grief.  
  



	9. Man of the Sea

Alastor tried to cheer me up last week by showing me a history book and an old news clipping about the time father was called the Bloody Knight. It tells of how the White Knight came back to Rucorna drenched in blood after annihilating a whole city under the King's orders, the carnage he caused broadcasted among countries because of its excellence. Father was riding a horse in one of the photos and he looked different, young, a calm storm. A corrupted being.  
  
It was a Pawn's City. A city built by the inferior race. The King suspected there was a forming uprising in there and he ordered for its destruction. Thousands of Pawns died. Hundreds of thousands of Pawns wept. Father and his troops spared the children and the article portrayed the mercy for those orphans as some form of heroic act. The whole nation talked about how amazing the spectacle was; how amazing father was at slaying the innocents they call the terrorists. The article wasn't about how devastating the deaths were, it was about how father did the King a favor.  
  
I know about the Bloody Knight tale. It’s a legacy that will forever mark our House. My lecturer, especially, is fond of it. She swooned about father a lot and she always took great pleasure in seeing Alastor just because he looked like the man she adored. I know the tale but I didn't know the details. Didn't know what kind of city he wiped out. The old witch always only called it _filth_.

I don't know how to feel about it. What was I supposed to feel about it? Father killed thousands and it looked like it left him apathetic while it shook me to my very core to kill one. A Noble even. Is this how being an Elite is supposed to be like? Does being an Elite take your soul and only leave behind a hollow shell? 

  
Alastor sucks at cheering people up. I suspect he was actually trying to make me feel worse. What message was he trying to convey? That what I did was okay?  
  
The next day after that, father brought the dagger as a gift. It was placed in a pretty white box. I haven't opened it since.  
  
Gentle hands caress my face and brings me back to cruel reality. The hypnotizing scent from the bath numbs my senses, giving me a feeling of intoxication. It should be okay. Mara provoked me and that test was supposed to end with someone dying anyway. I couldn't afford to die. And yet, I feel horrible. Did I make the right choice? It's already been a week and the same question floods my mind every single second that I’m left alone with my own devices.  
  
I open my eyes and the sad dark brown eyes of Yula greets me, her haggard brown face filled with white constellations similar to Aurea's. She's the Pawn with the scar on her arm. I've been talking to her these past few days whenever Jorjia was being a bitch just for the sheer fun of it. Jorjia notices I’ve taken a liking to Yula so she makes sure to send her to me every time. 

I think Yula is a pure soul. She makes me smile. I reach to brush her ashen hair with my fingers.  
  
"You're really very pretty," I say to her and she visibly deflates. She's always so sad. Pawns are always so sad.  
  
"Not as much as you, milady." Her fingers nimbly pull at my hair before she gets a towel to wrap me with. Bath time is over. Now, I have to torture myself in deciding whether I'll choose to lock myself in my room for another day or actually suck it up and face the morbid nature of the Choosing. There isn’t anything grand that happened these past few days. It’s mostly just free time. A healing for taking a fellow Noble’s life. 

Yula cups my face and she smiles reassuringly, warmth radiating from her very being. I tell her again that she's pretty but this time, she shyly kisses me on the forehead as a response.  
  
"You're not a monster, Bri," she tells me. I clutch her hands. Am I really not? The blood of the Bloody Knight flows through my veins. As kind as my father is, I know what he can do. What cruelties he's capable of. He's still the Elite from the House of Reinold. The burn on the mistress's neck is a reminder of that.

  
Jorjia and a few maids flock around me in front of the vanity mirror, fixing me up in hopes that I feel better enough about myself to not hole up in this dreadful room and sleep the whole day. Jorjia is kind of creepy when she tries to dote on me like I’m a kid, especially with that never-changing serious face of hers. I often tell her to stop. Today is not an exception.

  
"I'm trying my best so Yula doesn't have to deal with a mopey brat the whole day," Jorjia scoffs. Yula tries not to laugh when I stick my tongue out at the old bat.  
  
I think I'll go out today. Alastor has been visiting me much more frequently than necessary these days and I don't think I can stand another day seeing his ugly face when I clearly have the option of avoiding it.  
  
Father hasn’t. I haven’t seen him since he dropped off this wretched present. I stare at the white box. I leave it.  
  
Jorjia escorts me out of the room, the guard twins glancing at me like I'm some sort of freak that they can’t stare at directly. I greet them out of spite and that earns me a snicker from righty before they greet me back using my own voice. I scowl. 

They're from the House of Kirshner, the family of Mimics. They're the human equivalent of annoying. Ever since I invited them inside my room because I wanted company, they've done nothing but imitate me. I've also explicitly told them to not let guests in but they stubbornly insist on letting Alastor in everytime, saying he's family and not a guest. I want to hurt them, punch them in the gut or something, but the memory of Mara keeps me from lifting a finger. I suspect they're aware of it so they make the best of it while they can.  
  
"Long time no see, Brienne." The Stavins' contender comes into view with a cheery smile on his face, hurriedly stepping beside me before clapping me on the back. I stumble a few steps and cough at the impact. His hand is heavy. I give him a mean look. He only laughs boisterously at my pain, showing the spade mark of Nereos on his tongue due to how wide he opens his mouth. The sudden urge to punch his mouth came to mind but I stop it. It's too early for life to be this loud. 

I glance at Jorjia and it’s apparent she feels the same. She doesn’t bother walking alongside us, only keeping a respectable distance as servants do.  
  
"Got over it?" Javier hums as he accompanies me in the hallway. Somehow, I immediately get it. Mara's lifeless eyes flashes inside my my mind. I see her horrified face whenever I close my eyes. I hear her gurgled cries. I dream about what I did every night. No matter how many baths I take, I still feel like her blood won’t come off my hands. 

I look at Javier and he looks lifeful. Is he over it? There's a certain air around him. Makes you easy and uneasy at the same time. Makes you fear that you’re gonna unconsciously tell him your hidden demons because of how homely it feels beside him. 

I hate it.

  
"Over what?" I feign innocence. Javier fiddles with his hand and I notice a golden band that wraps around his left ring finger. He notices me looking at it and smiles more brightly.  
  
"Married quite young, didn't I?" I try not to gape at him. How old is he? 19? He looks like he's the same age as Alastor, so, 21? He has the same permanent mischievous smirk as father. He's quite handsome, his features sculpted into near perfection. His blue eyes curve into a crescent-shaped moon and a dimple appears on his right cheek when he smiles, an action he seems to do often. I notice his hair reveals a bluish tint when light hits him. Nobles are unreal. Suddenly, Yula’s beauty seemed very plain.

  
"I'm 22," he says simply before he stiffens. Subtle horror passes his face and I briefly wonder why before I grow cold in realization. The Stavins House. He's from the family of Readers. The only House in the Great Houses that isn’t from Rucorna.

  
"I'm sorry," he says. He looks like a kicked puppy when he meets my eyes, his features twisting delicately like a child and for a moment I thought of forgiving him. I don't though. He's dangerous. I remember the earring. It nullifies my ability but it doesn't block out the nosey ability of the Readers, huh. Javier shrinks and it looks silly because he’s a foot taller than me.  
  
"Can't help it, you know. It's not like we read them on our own accord. We just involuntarily hear them," he explains and makes flustered gestures in the air. I clench my jaw. 

What a load of bullshit. He's a contender. I know he's skilled enough to control his reading powers. 

  
Javier smiles sheepishly.  
  
"Weldt was an odd kid anyway." He dismisses the thought of my pain and the girl quickly with his hand and it scares me how casually he does it. He doesn't care. He shifts the topic back to himself yet it still toes on the territory that I don’t want to talk about. I don’t know why he’s talking to me in the first place but he continues on, acting like I’m a friend.

He starts by telling me he got partnered up with Darius Holleran, a guy from the House of Skeleton. For Fool’s sake, I came out of my room to forget about the whole ordeal and here’s one annoying guy who wouldn’t shut up about it. I wonder if Javier hears what I think. I hope he does because that saves me from having to put my discomfort into words. I hope he does so he’ll leave me alone. I suspect he does, even if there isn’t any sort of indication based on his features, and he just chooses to stubbornly stay and piss me off.

“Darius was my wife’s brother,” he says with a sad smile, catching me off guard. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. No words come into mind. What in the soil of Zaflora could I possibly say to that? The haunting thought of watching Alastor die creeps into my mind and I try to ignore how I feel about it.

“I’m sorry,” is all I could come up with. He nods at that and actually looks sorry that he brought this up. I jump because his voice suddenly echoes inside my head.  _ I’ll go insane if I don’t talk about this _ .

I swear to the Fool, I thought I was going insane myself for a moment. Is this how it is for the Readers? It sucks. Hearing voices resonate inside their heads. I still feel like Javier’s voice is bouncing around in my skull. It’s giving me a headache.

“Don’t do that again,” I hiss. Javier looks back at Jorjia once she notices that he’s done something to me. He only flashes her a shy smile as an apology before he puts a hand on my shoulder, asking for her permission to borrow me because he intends this to be a private conversation. I slap his hand away and he backs off with a nervous chuckle. I hope that brief touch didn’t give him enough time to sift through my memories. 

Jorjia eyes me up and down, checking to see if I’m okay and if I need any help. What could she possibly do if I ever was in danger? I nod to reassure her. She doesn’t need anything more. I suspect she’s eager to be rid of actually. She absolutely hates looking after me but you can tell she cares. She’s nothing like the mistress. Jorjia is what I envision a mother would be like. No nonsense, a bit brash, tough love. I flush and take my eyes off of Jorjia’s retreating figure. Can’t believe I’ve thought of that.

“I’ll punch you,” I hiss under my breath once I find Javier grinning at me like an idiot. _ Fuck _ ! I wish there was a way to not let him read my thoughts. Apparently, he’s a prick that doesn’t respect privacy, reads minds and murders brothers-in-law. Javier winces.

“Alright, don’t need to be so brutal about it,” he whines before he goes back to fiddling with his fingers. Is he nervous? Scared? What of? Why am I the one he’s telling this to? So many questions that he doesn’t dare answer. Has he stopped reading my mind then? He lets out a shaky breath.   
  


“I just-” he pauses before he swallows the lump in his throat, “It’s easier to talk about what you feel to a stranger than a friend, don’t you agree?” He smiles sadly. I resist the sudden urge to bite my nails. It’s exactly how me and Dor bonded. He immediately complained about his life and I cried my heart out to him because of how mistreated I felt. The only difference was all I had was a stranger. I didn’t have any friends before him. Javier does. I’ve seen him annoying Linnea the first day. It should be easy for him but he looks like he’s struggling to start. I sigh. I don’t know why I should care but I take the initiative to ask about his life first for his sake.

“Where and when did you meet your wife?” He lights up at that and immediately goes to chatter about how he met Iris, his wife, in a ball held in the King’s Palace when they were 16. He didn’t pay much attention to her at first because she scowled like there was no tomorrow and he heard from her thoughts that she didn’t want to be there at all. Especially with him. Iris apparently avoided him the whole night while dragging Darius along with her and fortunately, he wasn’t interested enough to care about them. Javier tells me that Readers are hated as much as Nullifiers and Dark Torches. Adds that we are difficult to deal with. I can only imagine. 

“But, I have gotten into a little dispute with Ancell that night because I told him the Mimic woman he’s trying to hide from Aurea was ugly and he’d better off telling the poor Drifter that she’s just a servant he had with him. Aurea overheard what I said and was enraged that Ancell was having an ‘affair’.” He makes finger quotes and I try to keep my smirk from appearing. Glad to know Ancell’s been that way ever since he was young.

“Let out this awful screech. It was chaos. Dor had to step in before she destroyed the room.” He shivers at the memory and I could only imagine how horrible the scenario had been. I’ve heard her squeal and it’s such an unpleasant sound. It’s ear-shattering. 

Aurea really is a hurricane; no wonder Ancell has no interest in her no matter how beautiful and voluptuous she looks.

“Dor never told me this.” I giggle. It’s a funny image and now I wish I’ve witnessed the whole ordeal myself. Javier smiles at me, pleased that he made me smile.

“He has good reason not to. Aurea would kill him if she knew he’s gossiping about her to his secret friend.” Javier winks before he reaches for me. He stops and thinks better of it, opting on just gesturing for me to follow him into the gardens. 

He knows about me and Dor. Either Dor told him about me or he read that somewhere in my mind. I wonder what more did he get from me? Nonetheless, I follow him. 

We come across the Strellis contender and she flashes us a crooked smile, water sprinkler in her hand, before she goes in her merry way. I smell the earthy scent that’s usually there when plants are freshly watered and it brings comfort. Reminds me of home. Countless trees of orange hue litter the gardens but despite it being autumn, there’s not a single dead leaf on the ground, probably already been swept clean by the Pawn servants early at dawn. Some have bushes of flowers at their feet, blooming beautifully as they will. I recognize the Aster flowers because some of them bloom all year-round back at the manor. Oddly enough, I suddenly feel homesick. I miss my garden. I consider it mine because none of the Reinolds ever hang in there especially so since I favor the place. They consider it dirty. I hang out there with Pawn gardeners, though they never look at me. Javier and I sit in one of the benches, its cold metal painted black. I trace my hand through the curves of its design. I may come here often.

Javier continues on his story.

“Our mothers made us apologize furiously to the King and Queen for causing such a fuss; my mother, especially, because she believed that I’m the root cause of it all. If I hadn’t insulted the Mimic then Aurea wouldn’t have found out, therefore, it all boils down to me even if it’s the Ancell-obsessed girl who freaked.” He suddenly purses his lips tight before carefully scanning the place to check if Aurea is anywhere near. I have to laugh at that. It would be funny if she  _ is _ here, loitering, ready to charge at Javier for insulting her behind her back. I wouldn’t even interfere, I’d just watch.

“Anyways,” he narrows his eyes at me, having have heard or sensed my malicious thoughts, “while I was bowing my head, my peripheral vision caught a doll-like girl who looked like she was laughing into her hands. I turned my head to look at her more clearly. She smiled for the first time that night and it took my breath away.” 

I scowl because he looks so love-stricken, it’s pathetic. He pouts and gives me a gentle knock in the head. I shove him as retaliation although it didn’t do much because his build is much larger than mine.

“I can still remember her voice in my head. How she told me I was stupid and, what do you know? Just like that, I was sold.” He smiles blissfully. I tell him he’s awfully easy. He agrees and then proceeds to tease me about Dor. I threaten to leave and he immediately backs away from the topic. He slumps more in the bench, all loose limbs and quick smiles. It’s easy to be his friend. I look down. When can you consider someone a friend?

“How did you get her to like you?” I ask and an annoying grin makes its way to his lips. I scrunch my nose in distaste. I can imagine how his wife always gets the urge to hit him in some way because of how annoying he is with his knowing looks and smiles. Because of his intruding ability. I want nothing but to smack him across the face. 

“Just spit it.” I scowl, impatient for his story. I’m invested in this now. He’s kept me entertained.

“Why? Is this your roundabout way of asking how to get Dor to like you? Because I’ll let you in a little secret, the guy absolutely fancies you.” 

“ _ Javier _ !” The annoying prick puts up his hand in surrender and I try to ignore the incoming blush that’s making its way to my nape and cheeks. I need to calm down. I take in deep breaths, not caring at all that Javier is killing himself in the process of muffling his laughs, his tan hiding his blush due to the lack intake of air. There isn’t even much a difference in our age but I feel like a child when I’m with him. He feels like an overgrown child.

“I can’t believe Iris married you. She clearly has shit taste in men,” I say when he still wouldn’t stop laughing about my embarrassed state, making me blush more. Whatever. I scoot away from him and sulk in my corner of the bench. He laughs louder, his laughter filling the whole garden and making some of the Pawn servants stop to look at what’s happening. I bury my face in my hands and feel the heat radiating from my cheeks.

_ Bloody Fool _ . He’s embarrassing. 

“I’m sorry,” he says when he can finally breathe, wiping off a tear. I just glare at him which causes him to snort and for a moment I thought he’d start laughing again. Thankfully, he was able to stop himself before the King himself comes down from his throne room and ask what’s all the ruckus about because of this manic laughter he’s hearing from the gardens. 

“Gave her a bloc ruby ring as my first gift to reassure her that I obviously respect her privacy and all that. It’s a custom when a Reader is courting someone. And then I persistently visited her in Vireria ‘till she gave in.” He takes out a necklace that he’s hidden beneath his dress shirt when he catches me making a confused face. He shows me a shiny black stone pendant and tells me that it blocks out a Reader’s ability to read your mind. He eyes the blood jewel that hangs from my ear and I resist the urge to hide it from his sight. They fall in the same category, huh.

“Pretty stupid to give a possible enemy your weakness,” I say and he shrugs.

“I knew I was going to marry her and I made sure I did before she gets swept off her feet by somebody else.” He grins and tucks his necklace back to where it belongs. Suddenly, his mood shifts even if he’s still sporting the same stupid smile. My hand twitches, preparing my flames in case the unexpected happens. He sighs.

“The Stavins work hard to produce a worthy contender for the Choosing so we can secure our spot as one of the Great Houses. So we can be a proud House that houses one of the Elites.” Javier’s fidgeting with his hands again. Dor complains to me everyday about his training but whenever I ask him about the details, he answers very vaguely before moving to another topic. He’s always all bandaged up and he claims to get tired easily. I’ve long suspected that his training is not as simple as he tells me but I trust in him so I don’t dare question him further. I try to remember my own training. It was hell. 

“Do you know about sharks?” I nod. I know them. Father’s favorite city is Nereos, the city of the sea, and he often tells me that if you let yourself be carried enough by the waves, sharks will appear and circle around you. Tells me they’re beautiful creatures. I don’t know its significance in Javier’s story though but I wait patiently. He suddenly feels very far away from me and I’m too afraid to reach out.

“There’s a species of sharks that practices intrauterine cannibalism. They eat their brothers and sisters while still in the womb.” I shudder at the thought and I dread what Javier has to say next. I find myself unable to breathe and move. He looks away from me, visibly ashamed.

“I’m no stranger to violence, Brienne. I’ve been doing this since I was young. I have the blood of my sisters and brothers in my hands and it’s not new to me to beat my cousins near death. I grew up thinking it was a perfectly reasonable practice. It’s the Stavins’s way of eliminating the weak and eventually training the one last standing to be a suitable contender.” Javier pushes his hair back and he suddenly looks like someone I’ve never seen before. It terrifies me. What scares me more is the thought that the House of Manipulation picks their contender that way and has created this monster. 

Has Iris given him a little bit of humanity?

“What did you feel when you killed Holleran?” I whisper, afraid that I might trigger something in him if I speak too loud. I’m shaking. How can someone this homely be so terrifying? I think of father. He really reminds me of father. I hope the day never comes that these dangerous men turn their eyes on me. Javier looks at me and his eyes are positively human. Normal. They’re the same warm blue that I came to be fond of just a few moments ago.

“I know I should feel something.” He plays with the ring on his ring finger and I could only imagine Iris’s horror in watching the love of her life indifferently murder her brother. He says he made it quick, didn't even give Darius the chance to charge at him. Watched the boy's eyes plead with mercy and felt nothing. He made the Holleran boy pull at his bones and meet his end by his own hands. Gave him the honor of dying in what he is. A Skeleton. Says he can still hear how his brother-in-law's bones crushed beneath his feet. Iris wept. Javier told her she should've let him borrow the bloc ruby ring. It didn't occur to him that his wife will be upset when he was inside the circle. Didn’t think of the consequences as he let Darius spill his own blood.  
  
Iris forgave him but he says it didn't feel right. He says he can't face her. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid. It wasn't his fault. Javier buries his face into his hands before looking at me like I'm his salvation.  
  
"It wasn't my fault."  
  
I begin to cry.  
  
***  
I find Dor negotiating with the twins in front of my room's door after lunch and I can faintly hear that they're mocking my friend while using my own voice, repeating to him something I said to them once in an annoyed tone.  
  
I haven't eaten anything. Everything feels like a blur. I should've never left my room because the encounter with Javier only made me afraid of myself. Afraid of how I find comfort in knowing that I'm not the only one upset. Afraid of how I find comfort in the fact that there's people worse off than me. Comforted that someone have to live with his brother-in-law's blood on his hands.  
  
Mara's face resurfaces and I can feel my flames crawl inside my skin. I have the feeling that she will forever haunt me.  
  
Dor lights up when he sees me but I can't find it in myself to smile back. He immediately strides closer to me, gently reaching to touch my arms.  
  
"What's wrong?" He asks, concerned, and I can feel myself coming undone for the second time today. Dor panics and leads me to my room, completely brushing the twins' knowing stares aside with his form.  
  
Once I calm down, I tell him everything; from the moment I met eyes with Mara to the moment I cradled Javier in my arms. I haven't seen Dor since I freaked out after the first test, Alastor immediately hauling me to my room because the mistress didn't want me to be seen. I recall the mistress muttering about how I did good, a primal satisfaction on her face as she held on onto my brother. She washed my hands herself and asked if the Weldt bitch used the blessed water. I don't remember what I told her but I do remember her hands trembling after. She left immediately.  
  
Dor kisses me on my eyelashes, comforting me as he always does. My sweet, sweet Dor. I love him. I love him so much. He wipes my tears away with his fingers before resting his forehead against mine and for a split second, I think I see his eyes. They're brown and warm and I get the sudden urge to weep again because he's so hauntingly beautiful. I've always felt like Dor was an apology gift from the Fool for everything I have to go through; that the fallen god has some sort of pity for a stupid little girl. I reach out to touch him, to feel his warm skin in my hands and he lets me. He's always let me. The Rucorna mark on his throat catches my attention, his apple bobbing as he swallows. It's the first time I've seen him with a loose collar so I can't help but trace the mark with my fingers.  
  
For a fleeting moment, it seems like he's going to kiss me.  
  
Alastor slams the doors open, startling Dor and I away from each other and effectively destroying the atmosphere I've long dreamt of. Dor stands and greets my brother like everything is normal while I turn my back and wipe any form of sadness off my face. I feel Alastor's burning gaze on my back and I try to ignore the goosebumps it gives me.  
  
"Funny. I thought you're not letting visitors in," Alastor drawls and he sounds so accusatory that I recoil.  
  
"I went out," I respond, voice hoarse. Dor's warmth comes back right next to me, the cushion of the bed falling with his weight, his hand inches from mine. I want to lean into him but Alastor's scowl keeps me from doing so. He turns his attention towards Dor.  
  
"And the first thing you do is make her upset?" I don't know why he's angry but he is and it unsettles me because he's acting possessive. I'm not his, I never was. Oddly enough, Dor seems calm. Either he's good at hiding his fears or he thinks he can handle Alastor in case something goes wrong. He even laughs.  
  
Dor locks hands with me and sneers. "Why don't you snap at the Reader and not accuse whoever you first see?"  
  
Alastor stiffens, visibly enraged. Heat flares from his body and I worry that he might grab Dor and just ram his fist in the other's face, flames and all, or storm out and find the Stavins male. I've seen Alastor fight and it's the primary reason why I learned to observe his temper. I don't dare bite his hand back hard. That boy's a cruel monster; I can attest to that. It's in the moments of practice and war he looks exactly just like father.  
  
"Get. _Out_." Alastor clenches his jaw, smoke seeping through his teeth. I break out in sweat and squeeze Dor's hand, afraid. I want him to stay; I don't know what Alastor will do to me if he leaves. I want to throw him out but I can't. I'm trembling. I could never throw out the prodigal son. Dor squeezes my hand back.  
  
Suddenly, the room goes cold and it feels like something out of a fever. Dor slips out of my grip and panic surges through my veins. He stands with the air of defiance and I don't know why I find it strange.  
  
That boy is not Dor.  
  
He moves slowly, deliberately, his steps echoing in the quiet room as he goes towards Alastor. Silent rage radiates off him and suddenly, it's like something's stuck in my throat. I can't breathe. Alastor scrunches his nose, fist clenched on his side but I see him faltering. Why is he faltering?  
  
Dor's removing our ability to breathe.  
  
A loud nasty crunch snaps me out of my reverie and before I knew it, both are on the ground and the twins have already torn the door down with their axes, reducing it to splinters; the usual nonchalant look in their faces replaced with madness. Each of them wraps the curved tip of their weapons around the boys' neck, standing over them like some kind of reaper.  
  
Righty cracks a feral smile.  
  
"Felt a Nullifier's temper from outside," he says slowly, menacingly, and I tremble when he turns his eyes to me. Oddly, they soften and I might be going insane but they look relieved.  
  
"We can't have that," Lefty adds.  
  
Yula skitters inside, hoisting me up my feet and gently leading me out of my room. I glance at them as I pass but, each one of them is like a blur. People that I haven't seen properly yet. I don't know who they are.  
  
"I'm scared," I admit. Yula pushes me around the corner and holds my trembling hands into her warm and rough ones. She clasps them together, kissing it before embracing me. She smells of firewood despite the fact that she's scared of fire. Here she is hugging a Torch even though a Torch did her wrong. She's still here, striving, in a world full of her conquerors.  
  
"Me too," she mumbles. I adore this woman. She’s undeniably stronger than me.  
  
She's here, despite it all, surviving as the inferior race.  
  



	10. Trade

I take a deep breath, the smell of autumn filling my senses. 

I love the gardens and I’m glad that Javier had led me here during our talk even though I think I would’ve found this haven sooner or later anyway. I try to ignore the pang I feel in my chest when I think of Javier and his face stained with pain and regret. Dor hasn’t shown himself since yesterday and I am not so sure if I can face him either even though I want to be with him badly. Alastor has apparently locked himself in his room, moping like a child. Father still hasn’t visited me. Meanwhile, Brienne Reinold is here, trying to ignore the tangle of problems she has by walking in the gardens with her dear Pawn friend.

The Strellis contender is here again, watering the plants, tending to them just as she did the other day. She flashes a toothy grin and greets me ‘ _ good morning _ ’. I reluctantly do the same. Yula bows so low that it leaves me flustered but Strellis doesn’t even acknowledge her. I was about to give her a piece of my mind but the Vireria woman excuses herself immediately, retreating to the halls with the sprinkler in her hands.

Yula doesn’t seem to mind. There’s lightness in every step she takes, humming away without a care in the world. She’s in an awfully good mood. I wish I can say the same about me; I feel horrible. Drained. I ask Yula why she’s so happy and she hesitates for a moment before panic fills her eyes. She thinks I’ll get mad if she doesn’t tell.

“A feast is happening later, right? The Viasden Prince and Princess will be arriving." Yula breathes, nervous but delighted, sharing a secret of hers for the first time. Still, there’s fear in her. I don’t know why.

  
"The Viasden Royals." I taste the words in my tongue. Viasden. An ally country. The Land of the Seers. Viasden is located in the East and I’ve read that the sand and sun favor the country. Father hates it there. He tells me it’s hell, especially mid-noon. "Why are you so excited about seeing them?" 

Her eyes dart before grabbing my hand, her feet immediately dragging me along with her. She leads me into the servant quarters, grabbing a cloak to hide me with as we enter their compartments.  
  
It's cramped and cluttered, a lot of little trinkets scattered about in walls and in shelves, five bunk beds all compressed together to make space for people to walk in. It's comforting in a way, like a little refuge, and I can just imagine how they all clamber into beds, gossiping like the troublemakers they are after a hard day’s work. A large cork board adorns the wall and in it pinned plenty of letters and drawings possibly from families or lovers that have been left behind just so they can serve in the Palace. I don’t doubt they miss them. Pawns are very close with their families. They don’t see each other as instruments to gain power. They part ways and sacrifice because they need to survive.

  
Another servant is sat in bed and she stands when she hears the door open, her smile fading when she catches my eyes. She's ugly, her red hair cut in a length meant for boys' and it looks like she's missing a tooth. Her face contorts into that of rage and she immediately yanks Yula away from me.  
  
" _Foolsfuck_?" The girl curses and Yula shushes her, grabbing the girl and leading her into a corner. They argue quietly and I know they're bickering because Yula brought me somewhere I shouldn't be. I pull the cloak closer. After a few minutes, red hair rests her forehead against my friend's and whispers something that makes the latter smile. She kisses the former. I knit my brows together.

They're lovers.  
  
When they turn, the girl introduces herself as Butcher. She pulls a crumpled paper from her servant clothes and then keeps it in her fist.

  
"Nice to meet you. I'm Brienne." I hold out my hand for her to shake but she slaps it away. 

  
"I bloody know who you are." Butcher sneers. The anger that comes over me is unreasonable but I let it come to me anyway. I bury my nails in my palms, trying to repress the flames that threatens to come out their cage. I force a smile.  
  
" _Quiet_." Yula claps Butcher on the back of the head and she barely moves an inch, still keeping a level glare. She really is hideous. Yula clears her throat and reaches to hold Butcher's hand, albeit a little shy that she has to do that in front of me. I snort. They’ve literally already shared a kiss seconds ago.  
  
"We heard that Viasden will be safer." I don’t know why she’s telling me this. I wait for her to say more but she just holds my gaze.

I clench my fist.  _ The Prince and Princess of Viasden will be arriving _ . It’s not that hard to connect the dots. She’s going to suck up to them. I try not to frown. My friend is trying to appeal to me. It’s in her silent but determined gaze. She’s trying to explain that she has found a better option. That she found a way out. 

She told me once that her family sold her to a Torch and then the bastard dumped her to Fool knows where after they burned her just because she made one little mistake of breaking a vase that a Weldt apparently adores. Prince Zyndel apparently found her then and brought her to the castle. I don't understand why. She doesn't either, but she's sworn loyalty to him since then. So, why is she leaving? I have not seen her gain bruises in here. She looks like she’s well-fed. The Nobles here barely even spare a glance at Pawns. Zyndel seems to favor her. Loregius is as stable as ever. As long as she’s in the Palace, she’s safe. Why is Viasden so enticing then?  
  
"How are you going to move there?" I ask, slowly, trying to mask the feeling of betrayal that seems to scream in every fiber of my being. She's my friend. She is mine. How dare she leave me?  
  
"Prince Zyndel said he's going to recommend us," Butcher scoffs, crossing her arms. I couldn't stop the grimace that passes my face. Butcher seems displeased about it too but seeing Yula, I understand why she's going along with it. 

  
"Zyndel told you you'll be safer in Viasden?" Venom drips from every words and despite my best efforts in masking it, Yula notices. Her eyes fleet to my clenched fist so I release them lest she gets scared. The last thing I want to do is burn a servants' quarters down. I look down. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I'm a monster.  
  
"How are you so sure he isn't lying?"  
  
Butcher rolls her eyes and then holds up the now uncrumpled paper she's been holding all this time. It’s a signed contract in a piece of enchanted parchment. She smiles and it's gnarly. How can these people trust the word of a Liar Prince? Trust the son of the monarch who doesn't even like seeing or breathing the same air as Pawns?  
  
"We have a deal." I had to laugh even though it saddens me how they believe that piece of enchanted paper will prevent a Warper from betraying them. But off they go, I guess. No need to antagonize the ugly Butcher. I look at Yula and her eyes are hopeful. She looks more beautiful with her lover by her side. She's glowing. My smile falters. The girl has nothing to lose here and I'm guessing she's going to take all she has with her. She's going to take Butcher with her.  
  
"Okay." I inhale. I repeat the word and put my hands up in surrender. "Are you saying goodbye, Yula?"  
  
She hesitates but eventually smiles. She doesn’t say anything. Both of them look at the old father clock that’s placed just near the door and Butcher sighs. She mutters something about how stupid this is under her breath.  
  
Butcher gestures for me to follow her, silently picking up a knife on the way and tucking it under her shirt. Perhaps, a precaution lest I turn on them. I'd normally think I'm about to get murdered if not for Yula gently taking my hand in hers and rubbing soothing circles in my palm. It's easy to think that Yula doesn't have a grudge against Torches by how kind she is towards me even though a part of my sanity screams that it's why she has all the reason to kill me. I hold her hand back. Butcher glowers at that but I let it be. I even make a face at her.  
  
We go through an entrance covered by a tapestry, a part of the wall seemingly ripped apart by force, and we are emerged in a cave-like passageway. I pull the cloak tighter because it's cold and damp and dark. I hate it. The fact that my flames can't light up shit begins to bothers me. I loathe the fact that it brings nothing but darkness. To my surprise, lamps attached to walls suddenly light up as we pass, leading us to somewhere I’ve never been before.  
  
"Where are we going?" I think it's appropriate to whisper and even though I do, my voice echoes against the walls. Yula purses her lips and only looks down, ashamed of something I know I will dread about. Butcher answers for her.  
  
"Prince Zyndel wanted us to show you something in exchange."  
  
My jaw tightens. The look in Yula’s face earlier in the gardens that I mistook for panic finally makes sense. It’s guilt. It’s twisted hope. She’s afraid of _me_. Afraid of the fact that I’m a friend.  
  
Right now, I'm nothing more than bargain.  
  
I let go of Yula's hand. She doesn’t dare hold it back.  
  
Butcher guides us in this strange path and I mull about how I regret coming here. I regret meeting Yula. I wish I didn’t defy the mistress by willing myself to make friends and trust people. I wish I’m heartless. I'd pick that over feeling all these strange emotions inside of me. I've felt like shit my whole life, why is it that I’m not completely numb yet? Dor and Alastor are fighting. Yula traded me for a better life and even though this is just but a harmless trade, it hurts. I want to cry but I can't. Maybe, I've already become numb or I have no more tears left to cry.  
  
What does Zyndel has to add to this horrible sad tale of mine?  
  
Yula starts to take lead once we get to the green steps, looking like a whole other person, determination ablaze in her eyes. She will do what it takes to survive. The admiration I have for her still holds true despite the bitter state she’s left me in. 

We stop amidst the steps and my mind is screaming at me to leave but when Yula turns a single brick, the whole wall disappears. All of us visibly flinch because of it and I hear Butcher muttering about how she's not just used to it and Zyndel is obviously mental for conjuring this up. It takes me a moment to realize that the wall became see-through on our side since the people on the other side doesn’t seem to notice us. Both of them unconsciously go behind my back, shielding themselves with this frail body of mine. 

I freeze.  
  
I instinctively focus on father. I see him inside the King’s quarters and he has his back to us while the King is behind his desk, visibly distressed.  
  
It shouldn't come as a shock for me that father is in the King’s rooms since he _is_ the White Knight, the King's personal soldier, but when I see King Jackson stand up and lean in to kiss him on the lips, I nearly lose my mind.  
  
The King undoes father's braid and unbuttons his shirt, sliding his hands on father’s bare pale skin and tangling his fingers in silver strands of hair. He has his eyes closed, savoring every bit of father. Black dots ripple through their skin, moving like poisonous snakes. I want to rip the King’s hands off of him as shame fills my body. I quickly had to turn the brick back before I see more of the living nightmare. I can't feel my hands. I turn to the two Pawns and I have the sudden urge to push them to their deaths. I try to keep my temper in check, try to keep my hands to myself but I know I'm doing a terrible job because the sleeves of the cloak starts to burn into ashes.   
  
I blame Zyndel. I blame that son of that cruel King. That scene is nothing but an illusion. _It's a lie_. I remove the cloak wrapped around me and fly down the stairs, my shoes barely touching the ground. I need to get out of here. I don't belong in there, in that time, in this life. The walls are closing in on me again and I'm back in the maroon corridor, pulsing like a heart, the muffled music playing in the background, Alastor bending over me. I can faintly hear Yula calling after me.  
  
I rip the tapestry off my way and I clamber to the room, searching for an exit. I blindly stumble through the door and when I finally see the gardens again, I can feel myself breathe.  
  
I can’t feel my legs. I can barely believe all of this is real. A horrendous assumption forms in my mind.  
  
_My father is the King's lover._  
  
I stand there for a solid minute, trying to recover from the shock of everything that I’ve seen. I don't know what to feel. I want to tell this to someone. I want to be comforted that Father isn't a plaything of the King's. I'm sad and angry. I'm so sad and angry.  
  
A noise that comes from the servants' compartment snaps me out of my reverie and I hurriedly run away from that place before Yula catches me and force false reassuring words into my head. I don't know where my feet are taking me but before I knew it, I'm standing in front of a door. It's unguarded. It's not a contender's room.  
  
It's not familiar but I know who resides in it. The family crest is a big take-away.  
  
I don't knock, or did I, but the door opens, as if he sensed I'll be here. And I can't believe I'm here, in front of him, seeking comfort. But, what can I do? He's the only one who can understand.  
  
My brother.

Alastor’s eyes widen upon seeing my face but he quickly presses his mouth in a thin line and regain composure. He’s nothing but in disarray, his cheek smeared with what seemed like oil, his hair mused as if he ruffled it many times in frustration. He looks nothing like the prim and proper Alastor I’ve grown used to.

  
"What is it?" He says nonchalantly and I suddenly feel hollow. It's amazing what he can do to me. I’m so used to erasing my emotions when I'm in his presence. I push through the door and start to pace in his room. It's messy, lots of clothes haphazardly thrown about, but a music box in the center of his desk catches my eye. It looks like he's trying to fix or break it. He quickly stands over it, hiding it from my sight.  
  
"Nothing." I blurt out. I feel like I shouldn’t tell him. I only want his company. Alastor's face remains passive even as he crosses his arms over his chest. He's thinking, probably figuring out why the hell would I be here. I collapse on the ground. 

  
My brother sits in his chair and continues to tinker with the music box he's presumably been working on even before I got here. It plays a tune when he lets it and it's nostalgic. I feel like he's played it before on the piano. I absolutely hate it.  
  
"You've got anything to say?" He asks, hinting that he wants to be left alone. I don’t want to be left alone. My mind’s going to spiral into the dark abyss I know so much again if this continues on.  
  
"I don’t understand father." I whisper. He shrugs.  
  
"I've never understood father either." 

I have nothing more to say but I stay. I curl up in a ball and stay. Alastor is a comfort and a suffering at the same time; no matter how much I hate him I still seek him because he's my brother. From what I've gathered from Linnea, siblings in a Noble family are insufferable. They break you and then get angry when somebody else other than them does.  
  
I glance at Alastor. That much is true.   
  
"What’s bothering you, really?" He asks later, annoyed that I stayed. He tolerates me still and that much is enough. He hasn’t scolded me even though I’m lying in the dirty carpets of his room. I can stay here. 

I don’t know why it bothers me. Father is free to love who he wants but why didn’t he tell me? It's betrayal. I feel betrayed. He has the King, of all people, wrapped in his fingers. Didn't father love mother very much? What would mother think of this?  
  
"It's just odd," I mutter. I bite my nails. I've nibbled on them so much that sometimes I can taste flesh and blood. "For the Warper King to be entranced by Father."  
  
"Do you really think it's odd?" I sit up and shake my head. I don't. Father is beautiful. He's cruel and beautiful and it's no secret that the King has depraved taste. Chros Reinold is an angel that the heavens threw out for being ruthless; it's not odd at all that King Jackson revere father the same way I do.  
  
"What’s happening anyway? What’s with the sudden interest with the King and father?" Alastor turns to me, and wipes the grime that stains his hands from working on that music box. He puts it aside and starts chucking the tools he used inside a silver box engraved with our House crest. I've never seen it before, but then I was never allowed to his room in the first place back in the manor. 

  
When I don’t answer, he gives me a level stare. "Father _is_ the White Knight. If you do well in the Choosing, maybe Zyndel will choose you too."  
  
Frustration washes over me and I almost forget the reason why I'm having this turmoil. The Pawn who sold me for a ticket to a ‘better’ life. The Prince who may or may not have shown me an illusion. What is his purpose? How did he know? Why me of all contenders? Why place that task in the hands of Pawns?  
  
I purse my lips when a sudden thought strikes me. 

"Is Prince Zyndel going to the Feast?" I ask. Alastor's brows furrow. He's not dumb but, I think  _ I am _ for being so obvious.  _ Fool’s sake, Brienne. _ He's probably picked up already that the prince has something to do with my odd behavior but he doesn't dare question it. Either he thinks I'm going mad or he just doesn't care enough to bother. 

  
"You're saying a lot of strange things today," he mutters but he tells me anyway. The prince is coming, of course. How can he not when his dear friend and his fiancé from Viasden is coming? Clyve and Aliana Rehn.  
  
I need to see Zyndel. He intends to make me a pawn on his game and I at least need to understand the reason why. Why I need to know one of the secrets the King has to hide. What father has to do with all of this.  
  
I hate the thought of seeking the Liar Prince but it's his abilities that I fear, not him. I don't know him personally. I don't know what kind of person he is but I do know he's dangerous. Cocky. The son of the Fool. But, I have to do it. He may have all the answers. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Alastor reminds me once I make for the door. 

“Don’t come near me then.”

He smiles.


	11. The Prophecy

Yula isn't with Jorjia when the old hag comes into my room to fix me up for the feast, bringing along three maids to help her. They're the same ones she always brings along. They smile meekly at me. I try to smile back.  
  
I ask Jorjia who Butcher is as she braids my hair and she scowls, unpleased. She tells me Butcher is the cook with the shitty personality that Yula is apparently enamoured with. She goes silent for a second before telling me I probably knew that already. I bite the inside of my cheek.  
  
A knock raps through my door and they don't even wait for permission before opening it, revealing a face that I have seen before. The Glenn Elite strides across the room, inspecting it thoroughly, her eyes roaming around until it lands into mine. They're a pair of lazy black pools that indicates nothingness. I can't read anything from her. She is wearing a uniform akin to Princess Victoria's except the Leiss' family emblem is gone and in its presence is the Glenn's. A severed head with a blindfold and a gag, its neck covered in vines with thorns.  
  
"Jorjia, if you may, the King would like to speak to Lady Reinold alone."  
  
I go cold. I clench my jaw and look at Jorjia, wishing that she wasn't a Pawn so she doesn't have to go. She glances at me, expression blank, and continues braiding my hair, snapping the band when she finishes. She soon bows towards the Glenn Elite and takes her leave, never looking back even as I stare at her retreating figure.  
  
I'm scared. I don't know how to face the King and the fact that I saw him with father makes it harder to talk to him. Father is not for anyone to share. A bitter realization comes to me when I remember all the times he rushed out of the manor because he was called to his 'duty'. The King has long monopolized father without my knowledge. Wrapped the White Knight on his fingers and took him away from me. Father left me alone for him. This Liar has masked his desire to be near father as the King needing protection from his Knight.  
  
My stomach lurches as the idea that the King wants to talk to me because he may have found out about me witnessing their intimacy comes into mind.  
  
A hand in my shoulder makes me flinch, the Glenn Elite’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She squeezes my shoulder, digging her nails into the fabric of my dress and into my skin. For a moment, I feared she was about to tell me that the King will have me executed.  
  
"You’ll be fine," she mutters, slurring a bit and suddenly, the strong smell of wine hits my senses. She's been drinking. She smiles although it doesn't quite meet her eyes. She glances down and I follow trail only to find that my hands have been unconsciously clutching the fabric of my skirts like it's my lifeline. My knuckles are turning white from the strain. I release them.  
  
"Lady Reinold." The King's voice sends a shiver down my spine and I hurriedly stand to greet him as he shuts the door behind him with a click. Elite Glenn's hand falls from my shoulder as she too, bows for the King. Gone is his usual attire and in its place is a black dress shirt crumpled from what I assume is the mischief he and Father went up to earlier today. The black dots are no longer evident on his skin. He looks casual at best and yet it's undeniable that he is the King for the air of royalty and the cold, unnerving gaze is still there.  
  
He glances at Glenn and then folds his arms behind his back, composing himself to his regal posture. He seems like he’s in a rush. Glenn shrinks in his presence and immediately goes to stand in front of the door, guarding it. Fear makes my blood rush. Am I not allowed to leave?  
  
"Sit down, child. I know this is very abrupt but I have a very important task for you." A hint of uncertainty briefly passes his face but it's gone before it takes any concrete form. "A personal one to say the least. I’m afraid I’ve waited too long and now, I’m running out of time."  
  
When I don't immediately heed his request, he cracks a smile for a fleeting moment and my heart nearly jumps out my chest. There's a certain fondness in it and I feel like I'm being seen again as someone that isn't me. I've always lived in the shadows of that woman. It shouldn't come as a surprise anymore and yet the flame inside of me still ignites.  
  


“Whatever may it be, Your Majesty?”

  
King Jackson opens his mouth to talk but before doing so, I can see his mind working. Tasting the words before spitting them. He goes straight to the point, not intending to waste any of our time.

“Win the Choosing. Be an Elite. Make yourself known to that son of mine.” I stare at him as he stalls on what he truly wants me to do. 

“And then take his life.”

I gape. “ _What?_ ”  
  
"Zyndel and I have not always seen eye to eye." He sighs, not missing any beat. I feel like all of this is an act. A reality he already planned. Every muscle in his body is controlled, making it hard to figure out what he's truly feeling. "I've always known that the day would come when he would drive a knife into my chest and render me useless."  
  
Another fear comes into mind. What if he found out that Zyndel has dragged me into whatever he has in mind? Has he come here to get rid of me? Has he come here to put a stop to it before it even starts?  
  
I'd rather kill myself than fall prey to a Liar.  
  
"What does any of this have to do with me?" _Why me?_ I try not to grit my teeth but I'm pretty sure I’m failing because I have a bad habit of always turning fear into anger. Even in inappropriate moments like this, in which a merciless King can order for my execution anytime, I am angry. He can't do that. Father loves me too much that I know he won't forgive him if he so as much threaten to cut me. Will he? _Poor girl. Only second in Chros' heart._ __  
  


But the King all but ignores my childish temper.  
  
"The King of Viasden told me about a prophecy." King Jackson fixes me with a level stare and I can't help but feel small in his gaze. He recites the prophecy, remembering it by heart. 

"He said that the Fool’s son will wake the slumbering Wicked and in her presence, create a new world of suffering.”  
  
His next words are like a curse.  
  
“A fallen angel with a face like a doll will push the Fool's son to his fall."  
  
I inhale. _Fool’s sake_.  
  
The Glenn Elite seems to avoid my gaze altogether, choosing to look down on her feet. Anger flush my cheeks and I struggle to control my shaking hands. I clench them and force a smile.

“Are you saying that I’m the angel?”

“Correct.”   
  


"How can you be so sure that I'm the angel, Your Majesty? I have plenty of cousins that are more breathtaking than me. Would you like me to call upon one of them?" Several faces come to mind and I urgently think of one that I think will suit the King's fancy. One who have the looks and the ability. There is that one annoying bitch who always sneers whenever she looks at me and although it pains me to admit it, her beauty is ethereal. I overheard one time from the mistress that if Alastor was to be wed, she'd like it to be with her.  
  
"Do you know how many people from your House can perform the feat you showcased in the first act of the Choosing? _Mercy!_ You and your mother are truly the only ones deserving of the title _angel_!" Horror dawns on me. _What?_ Did father made me learn that so I can be like her? Did he teach me that so I can fit whatever this stupid prophecy says? Is that why the mistress was so angry after the first act?  
  
I bite my lip. I don't know anymore. I blink away tears. I feel sick.  
  
"Are you asking me to kill him so he can’t change the world or you’re just using that as an excuse so he won’t overthrow you from your throne?" I ask, defiant. 

  
The King scoffs. "Zyndel has already planted his poison. I don’t have a say anymore in this."  
  
A gasp erupts from the Glenn Elite, drowning out my own shock, and she staggers towards him, only to halt when he looks at her with disdain. The Glenn Elite blanches and shakily steps back, swallowing whatever question she was about to ask. 

The King speaks again without a care. As if he hadn’t just revealed he’s dying. The black dots that rippled through his skin, a poison, flashes in my mind. Was that Zyndel’s doing?

Why does father has it too?

"I can choose to live and reign for more and more centuries to come but death is inevitable, dear child. It will come whether by the hands of the people I conquered or by my own flesh and blood.

  
"If I were to be completely honest with you, I would like to keep my dignity so I'd rather be it the latter. That's why I had Victoria and Zyndel in the first place. To keep my dignity." He paces through my room, coming to stop in front of a large window overlooking the gardens. I hesitate but I walk towards where King Jackson is, legs feeling like lead, and stands beside him to hear what more he has to say. It feels wrong. Being with a Liar always feels wrong.  
  
"That's probably the reason why Father had me too. So I can cut him open with my own hands and take the throne for myself. Murder isn't new to us Nobles. It's what we are destined to do. To strive for perfection. To strive for power. And in order to do that, we must prove our strength."  
  
Power is a dangerous thing. The Nobles have placed too much faith in it that I think it left us weaker. What are we without power? What am I without the flames? I look at my palm.  
  
Nothing.

Only muffled silence comes afterwards, each of our minds reeling. Mine especially. I didn’t think my brain can handle this much revelations in one day. Father is in an affair with the King. The King knows he’s about to die. The Prince is planning a new world and the Wicked will wake and help. An angel is responsible for stopping him. And the King thinks that angel is _me_. I can’t help the question that tumbles from my lips.  
  
"Why do you want to ruin Zyndel so badly then if your demise has been destined from the start? What kind of world will he exactly build that you feel he must be put to a stop?" I bite my tongue. "I'm sorry, it's not for me to intrude-"  
  
"That bastard son of mine has a fondness for Pawns." The King's voice takes on a hard edge and a shadow falls in his face. Here is the King who hates his subjects. In him I see the forefather that ruined Zaflora's balance for his selfishness. “He probably wishes to create a world of equality.”

Yula’s smile creeps into my mind.  
  
"Equality is impossible, dear child. Especially with us Nobles blessed with powers and those insects that call themselves the Pawns. They are nothing compared to us. They are nothing but mere parasites, leeching from the blessed ones. Convince me that those filthy pathetic weaklings aren’t destined to suffer. The Fool abandoned them, their Wicked cursing them. _Ha!_ " He sneers, crossing his arms. The Wicked’s Curse. _Rejects_. They are hideous creatures that were once Pawns. The Wicked intended to bless them, to grace them with power so they can become something similar to Nobles but since she did it out of spite, because of her wrath, it turned into a curse. That mistake was the final nail to her despair.

What a stupid reason to hate the Pawns. Is he too far up his ass that he doesn’t notice the flaws in his lenses? I hope Zyndel builds that world. But if it’s based on the prophecy, why is equality equivalent to suffering? In my opinion, it's foolish to trust whatever a Seer from another kingdom says even if they’re supposedly an ally. For all we know, this could all be a plot to overthrow the Warper King from his throne. 

But, when I look at the King, I find myself believing in his fear.

"I loathe them. They think they’re superior because the lands favor them.  _ Pathetic _ . I would gladly wipe them their race if I so please but I’d rather not have the Virtues have my head."

His last sentence surprises me. Virtues?

_ Angels _ , I whisper. Another name for the Virtues. Beautiful creatures that acted as an aid for both of the gods. There are only paintings of them now because it’s believed they died along with the Fool but some believe that they left descendants on the soil of Zaflora. One of the Reinold ancestors apparently had an offspring with one of the angels and it lead to the whole family stupidly declaring themselves as descendants of a divine being.

I start to shake. _A fallen angel._ Is the King assuming that the Virtue who betrayed her divinity to be with a Noble is connected to me? That their blood flows through my veins?  
  
A ringing in my ear makes me wince and suddenly, the Glenn Elite seems like she is slowly suffocating the air around us. I look back and she's rocking herself back and forth, eyes trained to the ground. Is she so trusted that the King is letting her hear all of this? But then, she's an Elite. She has more of a history with the King compared to me.  
  
"Isn't murdering a prince an act of treason?" I whisper, shifting my weight from one foot to another, trying to find a way out of this. I don’t want to meddle with any of this bullshit. My eyes catch Javier and the Strellis contender strolling outside, laughing about whatever stupidity that came out of the Reader’s mouth. If I didn't know that Javier is married, I would suspect that there's something going on between the two of them, with the way Strellis has her hand on his arm. But then, the King's marriage to Queen Jilliane didn't stop him from embracing father. I grit my teeth.  
  
"It's not murder if the person knows what they're getting into in the first place." King Jackson mutters, turning his back to the view and heading for the door. "That's why fathers and mothers of the killed contenders have no right to blame the throne for spilled blood. They let them join this competition. They knew the consequences."  
  
He looks back at me as the Glenn Elite steps aside to let him through. "It's their fault for being weak and in Zaflora, there is no room for weakness. The weak simply deserves to suffer."  
  
A shiver runs up my spine and bile threatens to rise up my throat. I can almost taste the bitterness. I breathe slowly. The King is permitting me to kill his only son without any consequences. Stray brown strands fall in the King's face as he tilts his head, cruel blue eyes staring right through me. He frowns, sensing my disgust towards his request. 

  
"I'm not asking you to do your task. I'm ordering you to and I trust that you will fulfill your role just as much Chros fulfilled his." He says, slowly, like an adult scaring a child into doing whatever he wants. I hate how father's name falls softly on his lips. He can make me do it. It's not impossible. The man can alter reality. He opens the door and pauses.  
  
"No matter. The prophecy will fulfill itself even with your obvious resistance to fate."  
  
And he's gone as quickly as he came. The Glenn Elite bows goodbye and looks at me from underneath her lashes, her mouth moving to say something but she quickly shuts it and shakes her head. Then she's gone too.  
  
I stand there, alone, processing all that happened in a day. Suddenly, I'm not very enthusiastic to attend the feast. How did this happen? Why me? Should I just corner the Viasden King and beg for him to clear up whoever was the angel in his vision? Did father plant this idea in the King's head?  
  
But then, I don't have to do anything if fate will already inevitably make me fulfill my role.  
  
So many questions. So many doubts. I'm suddenly thrusted into a world I know nothing about.  
  
I touch the blood jewel hanging in my ear. I’m not fond of the Fool but these are the only words that I know would possibly give me luck.  
  
_May the Fool bless me even in death_.  
  



	12. Feast

The campground is littered with bonfires as lively drunken music rings from lowborn Nobles who have been invited to play in the arrival of the Viasden royals. Nobles aren't acting all stuck up for the first time I've been here as they adorn intricate casual clothes in their bodies, eating food from the Feast like it's been their first meal in days, clinking bottles of alcohol together and laughing like mad men.  
  
Dor especially looks dashing tonight, his looks carefully put up by the gentle hands of the Pawns. The light from the bonfires light his figure in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. How shameful. There's a difference in his aura too, a glimpse of tranquility, and it brings me to an immediate smile. Makes me forget all the horrible things that's going through my life.  
  
He smiles once he notices me approaching but before he could meet me halfway, he's already being dragged away by the one and only Aurea. He tries to protest but it falls to nothing but deaf ears as the girl screeches about something I can’t hear. I frown and attempt to follow but they're out of my sight before I can even utter his name. Curse that Drifter. I sneak a peek into the skies and find myself embarrassed when I don't see anyone. Silly girl. They're probably going to track down Ancell until he gives up hope of escaping the clutches of an admirer. Might find Linnea too in the process and force her into submission.  
  
I look around, searching for another face that I'm familiar with so I don't look like an idiot standing alone in the middle of a tiring social gathering.   
  
Zyndel stands out on the far side of the camp, drinking wine with his sister whom, I might add, looks just as stunning as he is. His brown hair is neatly swept back, some strand carefully tucked behind his ear. Shiny red stones line the cartilage of his ear as an accessory, making him look exquisite. He's wearing a black dress shirt with one sleeve embroidered with various butterflies that seems to flutter towards his face, a red cloak covering the other side of his body and matching the red dress that Victoria is wearing. The earrings weren’t there before and I scoff because the man made it possible to make himself look more expensive than he already did.  
  
Zyndel appears to be mocking his sister due to the condescending smirk pasted on his lips, presumably uttering words that intends to poison the other. Victoria is trying her best to blatantly ignore him; too busy fidgeting about something that only both of them know about. 

The King clinks his glass to silence the crowd and despite some of them being too drunk out of their minds, they go quiet.

“Let’s give a grand welcome to our dearly beloved ally from the Viasden Kingdom!”

Victoria’s face lights up when Princess Aliana and Prince Clyde descend through the metal stairs on the right side of the building, immediately racing to greet them like an eager kid. The crowd cheers respectful acknowledgement for the newly arrived royals as the King and Queen exchange kisses and greetings with the Viasden King, the latter raising his hand as a response to the crowd and laughing in a hearty manner. Victoria immediately places herself next to Aliana, whose first act was to whisper towards her fellow princess. I notice Zyndel isn't anywhere near them despite the royals gathering like flies in the platform. I look back to where he was and surprisingly, he's still there.   
  
Looking at me.   
  
I flinch in surprise. The memory of the affair with father and the prophecy resurfaces and I have to tear my eyes away from him. 

I sigh. I just want to be an Elite. There's nothing good about biting more than you can chew. I should mind my own damn business and honestly, they should mind their own and not drag me on to their little feud.  
  
The fun resumes just as immediately when the powerful symbols settle and talk among themselves, exchanging stories with one another and putting on false airs to create the illusion of amiability. 

  
I bite my lower lip, willing myself to not utter another curse word, as I wade through the crowd, hoping that I at least cross paths with Alastor or Javier.   
  
Instead, I bump into the twins and in the usual places of their battle axes are chicken legs that have almost been devoured completely. Their mouths are covered in grease and when they smile at me, chicken bits are stuck in their teeth. I grimace at them and before I can move away, they've already wiped their filthy hands onto my blouse. I shriek in horror and attempt to punch them individually but alas, they're too quick to run away.  
  
Ugh, this day just keeps getting worse.  
  
"Barbarians, those twins." A hand steers me towards the buffet table, its hold too strong for me to resist but I know that voice. I know it too well. The person gets a napkin and attempts to wipe off whatever stain the twins left on my blouse, muttering about how the two even thought of dirtying such a pretty doll. When I look up, father's gentle smile greets me. My chest tightens. I look down.   
  
"I heard the King came to see you earlier." He says, cupping my cheeks to make me look at him. I've idolized this man whole my life; loved him beyond belief. I know whatever I'm feeling is wrong and yet I can't stop it. It's a mixture of jealousy and longing, betrayal and reverence, happiness and disappointment. Before anything can translate into tears, I turn it into anger.  
  
I feel cheated. The thought of Chros Reinold being someone I do not know, the constant whispers telling me I'm a shadow of mother, and the label 'angel' suddenly becomes overbearing. I hate all of them and yet I'm reminded of them everyday.  
  
I am Brienne Reinold. I am the second daughter of Chros and Caitlyn Reinold. I am the contender of the House of Black Flames.

I am me and I want to disappear.  
  
I pry myself away from his hands, much to his surprise, and immediately look back down. This will be the first time I go against father. Will he also hit me like he hit Alastor? Will he also grab my throat and burn me like the mistress? Or will he do nothing because he sees me as a replacement for mother, the treasure that got broken before he even got a chance to protect it?  
  
"Brienne?" His voice trembles, hand reaching for me again. I bristle. When he realizes that I won't yield to him, he takes his hand back, straightens his posture and frowns. I'm scared. I'm so scared. I love father. We're family.  
  
But a voice that's always been there whispers that he doesn't truly see me. He doesn't love me. He only loves an illusion of me. An illusion of mother.  
  
"You don't have to listen to whatever the King said," he whispers. Even though I can't see his face, I sense his insecurity. It radiates off his being and when I dare steal a glance, he has gone pale. "I talked to him about it, even suggested that even without him telling you, if the prophecy is true then it will find a way."  
  
"I'm not the angel." It comes out harsher than intended and father visibly flinches.   
  
"Who else could it be?"  
  
"I. Am. Not. The. Angel." I turn my head to look at the crowd around us. Some appears to be minding their own business but their tense shoulders and fake smiles tells me otherwise. They're listening.   
  
"Did you purposely shape me into who I am so I can be the one?" I sneer, blood rushing in my ears. I lower my voice, taking precaution so the King wouldn’t have my head. "What? So you can please your fucking King?"  
  
Father steps back. The air is tense around us for what seems like forever and all the while I try my best to control my rapidly beating heart. Cursing the King isn't probably the best idea. The temperature changes and I feared that he will burn this whole place down and tear me limb from limb out of anger.   
  
I was about to leave, hoping to escape, until he goes down on one knee and lowers his head in front of me. He takes my hands into his trembling ones and holds on tightly. Like I’m his lifeline. Before I can ask what he's doing, he says something that makes my heart stop.  
  
"Don't hate me, Caitlyn." He begs.  
  
I couldn't stop the tremendous urge to kick him into the ground.  
  
I'm so angry that I feared I'd grab a knife from the table and plant it on his chest. Mara's face resurfaces in my mind. I shut my eyes. Her howls ring in my ear. When I speak, it's difficult to control my voice.  
  
"What the mistress told me was true then? What they all said was true?" I clench my fist and even though tears threaten to fall, I refuse. "That I'm nothing but a replacement. A replication of someone you love so dearly."  
  
I grit my teeth and don't even dare look at his face as I storm off the campground, ignoring the various murmurs sweeping the crowd. It might just be my imagination but I think I see Dor following me. 

However, when I reach the halls, there's no one after me.  
  
The want to scream overpowers any rational thought so I scream; the voice that comes out sounds nothing like me. I bury my head in my hands, trying to control the ever growing anger. My legs collapse. I try to keep my flames but they seep into my fingers. I suddenly wish that I can burn myself with them.   
  
I've been denying all of these all my life and to hear father call me with mother's name is another kind of torture I wished I never experienced.  
  
I was never loved.  
  
I want to burn.  
  
Smoke fills my senses and I think that I really am burning. But I can't feel pain. Has my body become numb too? I look up and to my surprise, in front me stands Zyndel. He's sitting in a large windowsill, smoking; his long thin pipe emitting awful red smoke. He isn't looking at me but behind me. 

I notice I'm not in the halls anymore but in an empty room with only an old red sofa and tattered navy walls. I follow his gaze and there’s nothing but a barren wall. There’s no exit.  
  
I will myself to stand and against my better judgement, I reach for the dagger tucked behind my back. The very same dagger I killed Mara with. I took it along with me in some kind of whim. I grip the hilt tightly before pointing it towards Zyndel. He doesn't even react.  
  
"What are you doing? Where are we?" I hiss. He finally looks at me but says nothing. He takes the pipe off his mouth and blows out another wave of red smoke. The scent of strawberry wafts through the air and I suspect he used whatever reality bending powers he has to hide the awful smell of a smoker. I don't know why it smells so differently from the usual smoke our flames produce but the smoke from a smoker makes my head ache. The mistress smokes sometimes and I do my best to stay out of her way when she does. She's awful enough as it is, the smell even makes her harder to stand.  
  
A few minutes pass by and I was about to leave whatever this hell dimension is when he speaks. He cocks his head towards the window.   
  
"The King and Chros seems awfully close, aren't they?" Mischief is written all over his face and when he turns his blue eyes to me again, it's like being looked down upon. I scowl.  
  
"Another one of your illusions?" I ask. He shrugs and rest his forehead against the glass. I swallow and hesitantly goes toward the window, leaning down to see whatever he's looking at.  
  
King Jackson is making his way through the crowd, worry speeding up each and every step even when his face remains passive. He’s walking towards father, who is still down on the ground, broken. Father must have gotten the shock of his life. Was mother's death so painful for him that even someone of the same face will do? His own daughter nonetheless.   
  
Queen Jilliane is hot on the King's heels, looking like she was eating her heart out as the love of her life makes his way to his. When she reaches for her husband, he simply brushes her off like dirt. King Jackson helps father onto his feet and I catch that he was about to reach for father again but stops, reminded of the fact that he's in front of an assembly of Nobles. I clench my jaw. The King asks for everyone to continue to their merriment and goes back to disregard the disturbance to the Viasden King.  
  
"Why are you showing me this?" I whisper. I lean my forehead on the glass as well and I spot Dor with the palace doctor, frantically searching about. I hope he's looking for me. My beloved Dor.  
  
"Jackson probably already told you about this so-called prophecy." Zyndel moves closer to me, the pungent smell of strawberry making me scrunch my nose. I raise the dagger to his throat, daring him to come any closer. He only laughs.   
  
"If you're planning to kill me then go ahead. I’m not the angel." I spit, gripping the handle of the dagger harder. I press it on his skin yet he doesn't as much flinch even when it draws blood. I guess he really has nothing to fear when he's got the whole world in his palms.   
  
His puzzled expression, however, catches me off guard.   
  
"Why would I want to kill you?" He asks genuinely. I start to suspect that he doesn't really know the circumstances of the prophecy but when he gently takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, I know he knows. This is all but a game to him.   
  
"That will spoil the fun, won't it?" He smiles. I swing the dagger, hoping it would cut his face but he is quick to move away. I don't know where I get the courage to attack the prince of a Kingdom I am bound to but I figure I have nothing more to lose anyway. I wonder why I still don't kill myself. 

“Why am I here?” I snarl, more to myself than him.

“Because I want you here.” He answers simply. An emotion I don’t know blooms in my chest and it bothers me how I feel warmth even throughout my fingertips. He uttered it so easily. So simply. As if he didn’t even need to think about it. As if it’s the plain simple truth.

It hurts me that I find hope in the words of a Liar. I shouldn't. I should just end this life myself.  
  
Father has always been my reason to live. His approval, his love, his everything; I've yearned for it all my life. I loved him because I thought that he sees me as his daughter. A girl that he brought into this world to love and care for. I worked hard to be fit for the Choosing because he said he sees potential in me. He said that I'm something to be boastful about.   
  
Brienne is someone to be loved because she endured everything thrown at her, not because she shares the same face with her mother.  
  
_Mother_. I'm sure she's a very lovely person. She did things that made everyone remember her. She left an impact on Loregius, whether it be good or bad, she did. I've seen her once in one of the family photos hung up on the walls of the manor. She's a black raven among a flight of doves and yet she shines brightly compared to everybody else. I was in awe until the mistress noticed me staring. She had it removed and destroyed. Called mother a whore when father confronted her about it. She got her neck burned. Fucking bitch.  
  
"Why are you crying?" Zyndel asks, oddly looking like a lost boy. I throw the dagger at him and he catches it like it’s nothing. I go down on my knees and bow my head. When I don't say anything, he sighs.  
  
"I’m not planning to kill you, Lady Reinold, because I need you.” He stops once he realizes his slip. He does nothing more but hide it with a smile. There’s this hope again. Hope that I have a purpose in this world. In Zaflora. It spreads through every fiber of my being. Is this the divine intervention that will make me redeem myself? If I kill the Fool’s Son, will I finally gain my name and honor? I look at him and behind his eyes is a calm that unsettles me. 

It won’t be easy.

“I am a Warper. I'd like to challenge fate and reality myself and I thought taking you in will make it more exciting." He twirls the blade in his hand and crouches in front of me. "I'm showing you Jackson and Chros's relationship because I figured I should give you a reason to hate me. I sure do hope it worked. I even had to make Yula force Butcher into this plan of mine."  
  
A pang in my chest makes me wince. Oddly enough, I don't hate Zyndel. I hate what he can do. I fear the Warper inside of him. But if anything, the Liar Prince made me hate _myself_ more. Has he bent reality to make me more miserable or has he actually showed me what the cold, hard reality is?  
  
I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me that father paid Dor to get along with me. My chest tightens. My sweet, sweet Dor.

“Losing the Choosing is grand idea, isn't it?” Zyndel smiles, slowly, working his charm on me. I don’t know if it’s in his nature or ability but it’s working. He lends out his hand. 

“Come with me instead. I know you're destined to make me fall but it's time to go against fate.”

We stare at each other as I make no action in taking his hand whatsoever but he doesn’t draw his hand back, patiently waiting for me, his infuriating smile still pasted on his face. An idea of an oath comes to mind and before I can process the consequences, my mouth has already blurted it out.

  
"Cut my face," I mutter which catches Zyndel by surprise. He just stares at me for a few minutes, making my determination about refusing him steel but when he lifts the dagger and presses it on the skin below my left eye, I waver. The cool metal stings.  
  
"Here?" He says nonchalantly. Whatever. I tell him it doesn't matter. (I tell myself it doesn’t matter.) He holds me by my chin and presses harder, the sharp edge of the dagger cutting deep and drawing blood. I feel them fall along with the new wave of tears. I shut my eyes as tears seep into fresh wound. It burns. I don't know why I'm crying anymore. I don't know which hurts more. I clutch his sleeve and try not to whimper. It hurts. Everything hurts. He doesn't stop carving my skin until he reaches my chin.   
  
It's a petty thing but I somehow feel a sense of relief that he’s done it. Now that I've butchered the face that father loves so much, will he finally see me?   
  
Confusion takes ahold of me when Zyndel makes _me_ grip the dagger, lifting my hand along with it and pressing it onto his neck, the very same place I made a small cut earlier. He smiles at me kindly as if the thought of slitting his throat is a good idea.  
  
"Your turn. I’d normally suggest you cut my face too so we’ll be matching but my handsome looks is an asset that I’m not willing to let go just yet."   
  
I hope he just shuts up. I try to pry my hand away but his grip is tight, not giving me an option for this insanity. The blood on the blade smears his neck and I have to curse myself for still finding him lovely despite the wreck that he’s become. He truly is the Son of the Fool. His beauty is otherworldly, the type to take your breath away. He starts to pout when I stop struggling but do nothing. He starts asking me if I'd like to place it in a different place. I stare at him. He doesn't seem like he'll let this go soon. I don’t understand. 

No wonder the King doesn’t like him at all. Fear is a complete stranger to him. He doesn’t hesitate and only follows his whims.

  
My eyes trail down to his gloved hand, gripping mine. Even through the cloth, his warmth seeps through my skin. Last time too, when he covered my hand with his, his bare skin was so warm that it stung. I remember his slender fingers. They were so beautiful, a hand not befitting a man at all.

"Show me your hand." _I can’t wait to ruin it._  
  
Zyndel hesitates. Hope blooms in my body as I elicit a different emotion out of him and when he finally lets go of me. 

But, he’s quick to recover. 

Instead of taking off his gloves, he starts to unbutton his shirt. I try not to stare when he shrugs off a side, revealing his lean torso and the big scar painting his abdomen. I can’t help but wonder where he’s got it. I find myself entranced and once I realize that I blanked out, I suppress a blush. Thank the heavens that he doesn't seem to notice my flustered state as he rolls his arms back. I desperately focus on the blade instead.

  
"You get to pick so I get to pick mine too. Maybe below my shoulder blade?" He teases, sitting now. I stand and move away from him. “Wouldn’t mind if you carved ‘B’ in it. As in ‘B’ for Brienne.”  
  
I scowl at his joke. "I can't do this." 

“Why not?”

“I just can’t!”  
  
Instead of forcing me further, he just shrugs. "Maybe next time then, love."  
  
Zyndel composes himself, standing and whipping out his pipe again to smoke. He goes quiet for a while before smiling at me. It’s the type of smile that you usually show to a close friend. I don’t know whether it’s real or fake. He puts the pipe to his mouth and when he exhales, the smoke is blue and it goes towards me, engulfing me completely in its wake. It makes my eyes sting and for someone so used to smoke, I startle when I start to cough uncontrollably. When the coughing stops and I open my eyes, I'm back in the halls. 

My hand flies to my face and I wince when I still feel the new fresh wound left by the Liar Prince. I look at the blood in my hands.  
  
It's not an illusion.  
  
Footsteps ring across the hall and when I look up, Dor has already grabbed my shoulders in alarm. I immediately slip the dagger to where it was, behind my back. The dim lights of the hall makes it harder to see but I briefly glimpsed that one of his iris is red.  
  
"What happened to your face?" He asks in disbelief. He doesn't let me answer as he immediately shouts for Gavin. I wrench myself away from him. I won't let him heal it. I won't let him turn back time. I won't let them erase the proof of this hurt.  
  
Gavin walks nonchalantly towards us, only glancing briefly at my face before sighing. He squeezes the other man on his shoulder and then comes towards me, eyes blank. I don’t know why I get the feeling he’ll turn me in to father. I start to step back but before I can do so, he puts his hands up and suddenly I can't move. He stopped my time. I can't move. I can’t even blink nor breathe.  
  
"Just leave her be for tonight." He mutters towards Dor and takes a bow, excusing us both without my consent. He takes ahold of my waist and unfreezes my time, apparently having no interest in carrying me like a sack of potatoes. I struggle in his grip and was about to scream but, when he hovers his hand above my face, I shrink. He'll undo the damage if he has to. I grit my teeth.  
  
"I'm tired." I say. I glance at Dor and he looks crestfallen. A twinge of guilt goes through me.  
  
He nods. "I know. That's why let's rest you for tonight, shall we? I'll have Jorjia come up later to place food in your platter."   
  
Gavin lets go of me and makes me walk on my own, only coming to help me when it seems like I'm going to fall. Adrenaline fills my ears as we walk past the cheerfulness of the Feast and I thank the Fool that no one seems to look my way and question what happened to my face. He walks me towards my room and I'm surprised when the twins are already in their stations.  
  
"Had enough of the Feast?" Gavin smirks at them, eyeing them in a way that makes my skin prickle. The twins smile back at him and swing their individual axes over their shoulders.

“She wanted company.” The twins say simultaneously.  _ I _ wanted company?

I steal a glance at Gavin and it doesn’t seem like they’re talking about me at all.  
  
"We haven't been visiting her if that's what you're so worried about." Says Val, the lefty.   
  
"She doesn't like guests these days." Says Van, the righty. Gavin pushes me inside my room, closing the door so that I don't hear more of their conversation.  
  
_She?_  
  
I wake to Jorjia cleaning my wound hours later. I hadn't realized I have fallen asleep. I wince when she carefully presses damp cloth on my wound, earning me a scowl. In turn, she smacks me in the head when I try to move away causing a whine to rip out my mouth.   
  
"If you're so persistent on keeping your butchered face then keep it. If you don't want it to get infected and swell then stay still like a good girl." She continues to tend to it, squeezing water out the cloth before bringing down the tub of water on the floor. She wipes her wet hands on her apron and motions towards the platter of food that's set on the table. Besides it is the dagger that I used. Sweat drips on my back. She tells me to eat up and rest and then she’s gone. She doesn’t even wait for me to do anything she told me to.  
  
I stare at the ceiling, thinking about all that went wrong once I entered this palace. I really am sheltered. Seen nothing but the walls of the manor. Before I can start crying again, I close my eyes and let myself drift back to sleep.


End file.
